


But for the Grace of God

by ladyiisaka



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Canon - Manga, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Female pronouns for Grell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Original Character(s), Other, POV Original Female Character, Past Relationship(s), Sebastian being an actual demon, Slight AU of published chapters, Spoilers for Chapter 129 and beyond, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyiisaka/pseuds/ladyiisaka
Summary: In life, Ellie Howard watched a demon devour her sister's soul. To escape a similar fate, she took her own life, but was reborn as a Reaper. Vowing revenge, she joins the Security Department of the Grim Reaper Dispatch, intending to hunt and kill every demon in the hopes of finding her sister's killer. A night's assignment at the Phantomhive manor puts her closer than she could have ever hoped. Forbidden from killing under threat of death, she bides her time and waits to save the young earl, so very like her sister...





	1. Security

**Author's Note:**

> Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler © 2006 Yana Toboso/Square Enix Co., Ltd. All rights reserved.

They found the demon’s target sprawled on the floor of the Phantomhive stables, a half-empty whiskey bottle lolling out of one open hand. The To-Die List marked him as Josiah Bartlett, aged sixteen, set to die of asphyxiation at 2:03 AM on 11 November. The whiskey had painted two red splotches on his cheeks, but the rest of him was pale and sweating. His stomach gurgled loudly, and he let out a sickly moan in his sleep. Evidently, he was about to choke on his own vomit. A horrible way to die, but then again, most of them were. With any luck, Bartlett could avoid a worse fate.

Ellie, too, was sweating despite the chill of the night. Beneath the brim of her hat, her bangs were plastered to her forehead. The shaft of her Death Scythe started to slip through her hands; she tightened her grip and lifted the Scythe, ready to strike the second she spotted a pair of crimson eyes. The stables were far too quiet for her liking.

A quick glance around revealed nothing out of the ordinary. With any luck, they had beaten the demon here. Hell, if they were ungodly lucky, the demon had swerved off its predicted course in search of some easier prey. Ellie doubted that was the case. Reapers were just about as ungodly as one could get, but they were rarely lucky. Still, it looked as though they weren’t in any danger just yet.

“All clear,” she muttered to the Collections officer beside her. Today, she was paired with Ronald Knox, an old classmate from the Academy. Neither of them were technically on duty tonight, but this was an emergency and both their respective departments were stretched thin—Collections with Eric and Alan’s defections and Grell’s leave of absence, and Security with the uptick of demonic activity that surged this time of year. Ellie wouldn’t have begrudged giving up her night off in most circumstances, but tracking a demon on Phantomhive land, of all places…“Make it quick, will you?”

Ronald tugged the cord on his motorized Death Scythe. The engine roared to life, but the wheels remained locked in place. “No can do,” Ronald said, glancing at his wristwatch. “This fellow’s still got another three minutes to go. Got to keep to the timetable and all that.”

Ellie scoffed, still scanning the room out of the corner of her eye. “The _timetable_? Since when have you cared about any sort of timetable beyond Happy Hour and holiday leave?”

Ronald laughed. The sound bounced around the stables, pushing back the oppressive air. “Never, actually. But see, the last time I was on duty, I was with Mr. Spears, and he just about burst a blood vessel when I started reviewing the Record early. Hell, not even early! It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds before the old girl—”

“Shh!” Ellie hissed, grabbing Ronald’s arm to stop him moving. “Did you hear that?” For just a moment, she could have sworn she heard a whisper. _I know you_ , it had said, almost too quiet to hear.

Ronald clapped his free hand over his mouth, serious for once. Still as corpses, they listened for the scrape of claws on the earth and the low growl of a beast on the hunt. All they heard, however, was the pawing and whickering of uneasy horses and the rumbling motor of Ronald’s Death Scythe. They were alone, save for the doomed boy at their feet.

After about thirty seconds of silence, Ronald let out the air he’d been holding in one whistling huff. “Hoo! Blimey, Ellie, you almost had me going there for a sec.” He clapped her hard on the back to show that there were no hard feelings. “Nothing to be scared of, though! Nobody here but us dead blokes, eh, Bartlett?” Grinning, he prodded the drunk boy with one shoe. Bartlett’s only response was a low belch.

Ellie did not smile back. Without her noticing, she had raised her Death Scythe to a combat position, ready to swing toward the slightest movement. She took a deep, quiet breath and lowered the Scythe by a fraction of an inch. “Don’t get comfortable,” she warned Ronald. “This thing could be on top of us before we even know it’s here, so keep your specs polished.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He snapped a sarcastic little salute. When Ellie glowered, though, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, all right. Blimey, but you worry too much. If I were a demon, I wouldn’t want to risk a two-on-one fight for a mouthful like this.” He toed Bartlett’s unresponsive body again.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you, but Security’s been chasing this demon up and down the Isles for close to a month. It must be starving by now, and that will make it desperate. A fight would be more than worth it at that point.”

Ronald shrugged, oblivious to the danger. “Well, like I said, you don’t need to worry. I’ll make sure to protect you.” He grinned at her, a cocky grin that blared, “Aren’t I the best?”

Ellie considered reminding him that the whole point of the Security Department was to protect the Collections officers in the field, but decided to let it go with just a roll of the eyes.

At that moment, Bartlett began retching, his face going from white to red as his airways clogged. The rank smell of bile, trapped as it was, polluted the air. “Ooh, here we go,” Ronald murmured. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he propped his Death Scythe on its back wheels and pressed the blades into the dying boy’s flank. Strips of Cinematic Record burst from the wound.

“Half a sec,” Ronald announced a bit too loudly, as though he wanted to drown out Bartlett’s death throes.

Feeling a bit ill herself, Ellie turned away and made a thorough check of the rest of the stable. Most of the horses were awake now, peering out of their stalls with their ears flat. They could not see or hear either Reaper (no healthy living thing could, unless the Reapers chose to reveal themselves), but they could sense the presence of death all the same. As Ellie approached each stall, the horse inside stamped its hooves and rolled its eyes in terror. She made sure to stay well out of range of teeth and hooves as she examined them for demonic markers. Their eyes were all brown, their pupils were all round, and their teeth were all flat. Ordinary horses.

The rest of the structure looked clear as well. No cold spots, no dark shadows where they shouldn’t be, and no whiff of sulfur or blood or rot. The only place Ellie didn’t check was beyond the little window looking out over the yard. From her past life, she knew that one could see the Phantomhive manor peeking out over the trees, and she couldn’t bear to catch even the briefest glimpse of the house in which she and her sister had died.

The choking noises were subsiding, replaced with the steady _tick-tick-tick_ of the Cinematic Record unreeling. Ronald, focused on his examination, flipped through the pages of his notebook and mumbled to himself.

“How’s it going over there?” Ellie called out, only half paying attention. There was still one horse she hadn’t checked, a big black courser in the furthest stall from the door. The horse lifted its head and pricked its ears as she approached, but it did not buck or rear as the others did. Its eyes were a light brown.

“Shouldn’t be much longer.” He paused, distracted by some meaningless little image on the Record. “Hey, so, I was thinking.”

“Uh-oh. Need to lie down?”

“Hardy-har. Anyway, me and a couple other blokes from Collections are going on a group date with some girls from General Affairs. You should come with us.”

Ellie indulged in a private, wry smile. “Sweet of you to offer, but I think I’ll pass this time. Not at my best in large groups, you know.”

To her disappointment (but not any particular surprise), Ronald did not back off. “Then how’s about you and I go for drinks tomorrow night? Just you and me, like a—” He stopped himself and chuckled, not daring to say his favorite word.

Ellie bit back a sigh as she looked back at him. “Ronald, it doesn’t matter how many times you ask me, the answer will always be—”

And then several things happened all at once. Ellie felt something cold and quick shoot past her cheek. The reek of decay overpowered the smell of vomit. The black courser behind her let out a strangled scream and fell to its knees, dead. A dark, shapeless mass coagulated before the others. Its shadow on the wall reached out a clawed hand toward Bartlett. Sharp, porcelain-colored fangs slathered onto the floor, the puddles steaming.

There were a good fifteen feet between Ellie and the demon. She would never cross that distance in time. There was only one option; with all her strength, Ellie drew back her arm and launched her Death Scythe directly at the demon. The axe head gleamed as it somersaulted through the air.

Whether it was because the demon was too fixated on its prey or too weak from hunger, it couldn’t move away in time. The axe blade spliced into its shoulder, splattering black blood on the hay. Strips of Cinematic Record, darker and more twisted than Bartlett’s, snaked out of the wound. The demon staggered back, screeching in pain. The horses added their voices to the cacophony, panicked at the smell of blood even if they couldn’t see the monster.

Resisting the urge to cover her ears, Ellie charged forward, then leapt back as the demon took a swipe at her with its uninjured arm. Its face contorted in a rictus, and it made a throaty, grating sound that might have been laughter. It must have just realized that, with her Scythe embedded in its shoulder, Ellie was unarmed. She tensed, ready for the strike.

Ronald’s Death Scythe roared, the pitch changing at it swung about. The tendrils of Bartlett’s Record faded away. “No!” Ellie shouted as the roar grew closer. “Finish the examination!” She didn’t take her eyes off the demon, who was glancing at the rumbling Death Scythe with uncertainty.

“Hell no!” Ronald replied, revving the motor even louder. “I’m not letting you fight that thing alone!”

Ellie huffed in impatience. Why were Collections officers always so bloody difficult? “All it wants is Bartlett’s soul! Collect that, and it won’t have any reason to stick around! So get to it already!” Ronald hesitated, then swore and turned his Death Scythe back toward Bartlett. With relief, Ellie saw the Record materialize again out of the corner of her eye. _A minute to go, maybe less. I can hold this thing off for that long, Scythe or no Scythe._

The demon hadn’t moved yet. Its numberless eyes—the only constant, besides its dripping fangs, in a featureless and ever-changing face—were narrowed in concentration. What would be better for it, wasting time with a declawed Reaper or snatching up its first meal in who-knows-how-long with barely any opposition? A few eyes flicked toward Bartlett, glinting with greed.

That was all the opening Ellie needed. In one fluid motion, she pulled her dagger from her belt and threw it at the demon’s face. A direct hit – the demon clapped its claws over a ruined eye, screaming loud enough to wake the queen in Windsor. While it was distracted, Ellie wrenched both her Death Scythe and her dagger from its body. She then kicked it in the stomach, sending it sprawling. Looming over it, she raised her Scythe above her head for the finishing chop. The demon snarled in hatred, but did not dare to move.

Ronald let out a whoop of triumph. “Got it!” There was a snipping sound, and the Record disappeared again. Bartlett issued a wet and muffled death rattle from his clogged throat, then fell permanently silent. The demon hissed. Ellie swung her Death Scythe, but this time, the demon had enough presence of mind to roll out of the way. It then sublimed into a smoky vapor and billowed out the open door.

Anyone else would have let it go. The examination was complete, the soul was collected, and there were no unnecessary fatalities. No one else would have anything to gain from risking their undead lives. Ellie, though, wasn’t finished yet. There was still one more thing she needed to hear. So, ignoring Ronald’s indignant protests, she raced off into the night.

At the edge of the stableyard, her feet slowed from a sprint to a jog to a walk to a stop, all of their own accord. The demon was forgotten, the urgency of combat draining away. Before, when she and Ronald had entered the stables, she had scanned her surroundings without seeing them, focused only on the demon and where it might be hiding. Now, though, she drank in every detail, long-repressed memories bursting out of her brain like fireworks. She had no heartbeat, per se—nothing that matched a human’s bolting rhythm, anyway—but she felt (or imagined she felt) an aching movement in her chest all the same.

It had been nearly forty years since she had stood in this stableyard as a living woman, but everything looked exactly the same as she remembered it. The only real change was the shiny new pump for the water trough, but in the dark of the night, it was all too easy to believe that it was the same old rusty pump as before. She half-expected to see Claudia sneaking off on her dapple-gray mare for a midnight ride, or a sleepless Jasper sitting on the bench with a lantern at his side and a book on his lap. But they were long gone, and their only legacy was their old manor house and the boy who ruled it. Ellie could see the upper floor hovering over the top of the forest, all the windows dark. Was that the master bedroom facing her? Was that the room in which she and Martha had died? If she stood in that room now and looked out, would she see the same view as she had that dreadful night?

Then she spotted a smear of steaming black blood in the dirt and snapped back to attention. There was still work to do tonight. Time enough later to wallow in reminiscence and ponder the irony of Management sending her back here on a demon’s tail. She shook her head to clear it, gripped the shaft of her Death Scythe in both hands, and took off again, following the trail.

The demon had not been careful as it fled. Every few feet, another drop of blood stained the earth. There were even blots on a few tree trunks, as though the demon had blundered into them in its haste to escape. It must have been badly hurt and more than a little frightened. Ellie felt a surge of pride at her handiwork. _Not so funny when it’s you on the receiving end, is it, monster?_ She hoped it was Victor she was chasing. God, how she hoped it was Victor.

The forest was starting to thin now. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, turning the grass silver and the blood sable. The wind shifted, carrying faint voices. Ellie strained to hear, clamping her mouth shut so that her habitual breathing did not drown out the distant sounds.

“You can’t just let her kill me!” someone was saying in a frail, wheezy voice. “You really want a mad Reaper running around unchecked on _your_ territory?”

The answering voice was cold and even. “Your indiscretion is none of my concern. If you did not wish to be beaten like a common cur, then you ought not to have taken what you did not earn.”

“Please! Aren’t we comrades? Common enemy, and all that?”

“ _Comrades_?” The second voice dripped scorn. “I’ll thank you not to lump me in with your ilk. At any rate, if you would like to make a deal, you’ll have to come up with something better than appealing to our shared nature.”

Ellie stopped short, nearly tripping over an exposed tree root. A cold pit formed in her stomach. _Two of them. There are two demons here._ Why on earth would Management send a single Security officer to neutralize two demons? And more importantly, why had no one told her?

She bounced on her heels, considering her options. The voices were closer now, probably just beyond the tree line, fifteen feet away. As soon as she made it beyond that point, they would spot her. Should she call for backup? No, if Management had intended to send two Security officers, then they would have done so. Should she track down Ronald? No, he was a wild card; Ellie had no idea how he fought, other than running over people with his Death Scythe. The two of them trying to work together in a high-risk situation like this for the first time—there was no way that wouldn’t end in disaster. Should she cut her losses and let the original target slink off to lick its wounds? Absolutely out of the question. Only one option, then. Ellie grit her teeth and burst out of the woods, Scythe at the ready.

She found herself in a little clearing, ringed by trees and shining in the moonlight. There was a single stone slab jutting up from the ground in the middle of the clearing. Judging from its shape, it must have been a headstone. The two demons stood on either side of it. The demon from the stables stood closest to Ellie, hunched over and quivering. Gobs of blood oozed down the headstone and stained the grass. As Ellie ran out of the woods, he spun about and looked at her with ill-disguised terror.

The other one took the form of a handsome man in his early thirties. He wore well-tailored trousers and a black swallowtail coat over a dark waistcoat—the uniform, Ellie remembered suddenly, of a Phantomhive manservant. He seemed perfectly ordinary at first glance, but the longer Ellie looked at him, the more signs of his true nature she could see: the pallid skin, the eyes that were not quite crimson but still red enough to be unnatural, the ever-so-slightly discolored spots beneath his white gloves where his nails would be. His build was slender, neither well-fed nor starving. Healthier than his “comrade,” then, and far more dangerous.

There was no fear, or even concern, in his face as he turned to look over the new arrival. His eyes narrowed a touch, but his smile was polite and natural. “Ah, would this be the guest in question? I bid you welcome to the Phantomhive estate.” So saying, he placed a hand over his heart and bowed at the waist. “I am the butler of the household, Sebastian Michaelis. A true pleasure.” His teeth were just the tiniest bit too sharp.

She studied his downturned face, her eyes narrowing. Was he making fun of her? And to what end? Simple amusement, or to catch her off guard so he could more easily kill her? Not that it mattered. Her job was the same either way.

Affecting an easy smile, she tipped her hat like a man. “Cheers. Right, then.” She swung her Death Scythe up and around to smack the shaft against her upturned palm. “Which of you wants to go first? I couldn’t care less either way.”

The butler, Sebastian, straightened up, his smile neither broader nor thinner than before. “Oh, don’t mind me. By all means, continue as you were. I’d hate to take what rightfully belongs to this gentleman here.”

At his words, the first demon staggered backwards, its uninjured arm raised to ward Ellie off. It took a moment for Ellie to decipher meaning in its guttural snarl. “Leave off already! You already got that tattered mouthful of a soul, so why bother with me still?”

Ellie took a step forward, swinging the Death Scythe back into a ready position. “That was just me doing my job. I’m on my own time now, and I have a question for you.”

The snarling subsided. The demon cocked its head to the side, a gesture that disturbingly reminded Ellie of a small puppy. “And if I answer, will you let me go?”

“That depends if I like what I hear.” The demon took another step back, but its face, formless as it was, did not betray any further emotion. It nodded in acquiescence, moving the hand of its outstretched arm to press down on its shoulder wound.

Ellie took a moment to steady herself. As always, her stomach lurched at the thought of finally, _finally_ receiving the answer she was desperate to hear. As always, she knew she would be disappointed again. _Too weak. Too cowardly. It can’t be Victor._

Still, she had to ask. “Does the name Martha Howard mean anything to you?”

The demon blinked. “Who?”

By some miracle, she managed to keep her voice even. “English girl. Redhead. About my age. You would have eaten her soul. About forty years ago.”

A shake of the head. “I don’t bother with names. Or females, for that matter. Too rich for my taste. It’s like chewing on—”

It broke off, yelping in pain and surprise. Ellie had swiped its wounded arm again with her Death Scythe, releasing a fresh wave of Cinematic Record strips. Before it could retaliate, Ellie grabbed a section of the Record and began examining it, just as the Academy had taught her. A demon’s Cinematic Record was different from a human’s—longer, crueler, more varied—but the principle was the same. She had no trouble navigating it, though the strips felt heavy and unnatural to the touch. Fighting a wave of nausea, she fast-forwarded the reel to 1849, the year Victor would have tricked Martha into making a contract. The year both sisters had died.

Nothing. This demon had been stalking some French dandy that year. _Victor’s still in the wind._ It was no more than Ellie had expected, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth all the same. She let out a soft sigh, then lowered her Scythe. “Amazing. To think a demon would actually tell the truth.”

The demon snarled anew, clutching its latest wound. “Told you! Now, I’ve answered your question, verbally and otherwise, so will you please leave off and let me look for my dinner as far away from you as possible?”

Ellie scowled. She would have loved nothing more than to chop its ugly head off, but there was no reason to. Her orders had been simply to prevent the demon form collecting Bartlett’s soul; the higher-ups wouldn’t see any point in wasting time by exterminating a demon needlessly.

With a sigh, she dropped her arm and let her Death Scythe hang by her side. “Fine, then. But if I ever catch you in my sector again, I won’t hold back like I did tonight.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and started off in the direction from which she had come, intending to find Ronald and go home as soon as possible. Forget that other one, Sebastian, for now. In the morning, she would go to Management and demand to know why—

“Behind you,” Sebastian murmured, mouth curving upward.

But Ellie had already felt the air shift. She pivoted on the balls of her feet, Death Scythe swinging. Not a moment too soon. The flashing red eyes and outstretched claws of the attacking demon were mere inches from her throat, rancid breath heavy on her skin. But the demon was weak and slow, and the Death Scythe caught it in the jaw, sending it sprawling. Another turn, another swing, and it was all over. The remains of the decapitated monster burst into black flame, stinking of sulfur.

Without a word, Ellie stamped on each flame until the fire was out. As usual, she felt no triumph in killing her enemy, nor did she feel any relief or lingering fear from her near miss. What did it matter that, if she had been just half a second later, she would have died a second time, and then been punished properly for taking her own life? This was just the same old shift, with the same old disappointment, nothing more.

Only after she had finished scraping all the ash into the soil did she turn to face Sebastian, shifting her Death Scythe so that the blood on its edge glinted in the moonlight. “If you expect mercy for warning me, don’t. I didn’t need your help, and I don’t make deals with demons.” Beneath her glove, the scar on her right hand prickled in contradiction.

If the death of his “comrade” disturbed Sebastian, he didn’t show it. That prim, proper half-smile was still fixed firmly in place, an invisible mask. “But of course. If anything, my words were repayment of my debt to you. That wretch—” He nodded at the charred grass. “—nearly woke my young master with his caterwauling. You have my gratitude for putting a stop to it.” He bowed again, hand over heart.

Ellie frowned. “Young master?” she echoed, but then took a closer look at the demon’s glove. Besides the spots where his black nails were hidden, there was another slight discoloration in the center of the glove, unnoticeable unless one knew what to look for. Though she couldn’t make out any details, she knew instinctively that it was the Mark of the Covenant, the brand that bound a demon to the human whose soul it had bought. This demon had made a contract. _Just like Victor. And the Mark in the same place!_ Her own mark prickled again.

Instinctively, she raised her Death Scythe again, scattering drops of blood. The roaring in her ears was back, the anticipation of combat bringing her to life again. “Stick out your arm,” she growled. “Let me see if I can’t find Martha Howard in your Record.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. His smile widened a fraction. “No need to bother with that. My young master has ordered me not to lie, so checking your work would be unnecessary in this case.” He paused, waiting for her to lower her weapon. She did no such thing, but he smiled and continued anyway. “As it happens, there is a Martha Phantomhive, née Howard, buried in the family cemetery. She is the current Earl Phantomhive’s great aunt, and she passed away in 1849, which would agree with the timing you mentioned.” He chuckled. “Though I was not aware her soul had been eaten.”

Ellie chewed her lip, considering. The account was reasonable enough, but if there was one thing she had learned in life or death, it was to never trust a demon’s words, no matter how pretty they sounded. “Master’s” orders or not, there were plenty of ways to hide the truth without outright lying. A possibility popped into her head immediately. “And you actually remember all that, do you? If I find her gravestone and see a different date or something, you won’t say, ‘oh, I must have been mistaken, so sorry’?”

There was a hint of pride in his eyes. “Certainly not. As butler to the Phantomhive family, what would I do if I could not recall the family’s history at need?”

Reluctantly, Ellie lowered her Death Scythe. There was enough doubt in her mind about whether this actually _was_ Victor that she was wary of killing him immediately. He very likely knew more than he was letting on, and she wanted to extract every bit of information possible before burning any bridges. Besides, she wanted to find out ask what Management had planned for this demon, considering that they had tried to hide his existence from her.

“Fine,” she said, the words all but choking her. “I’ll believe you, then. And unless you try to rip me open while my back’s turned, I’ll leave it at that. Thank you for your cooperation,” she added after a brief pause.

“You are most—ah, do please wait a moment.” He tapped his chin again in thought. “I do believe I’ve just recalled something else. If you have an interest in Lady Martha, then you might wish to take a look at this grave.” He gestured toward the slab in the middle of the clearing.

Ellie followed his hand, frowning and curious despite herself. “Why? Whose grave is—?” But a wave of bitter cold passed through her, and she felt the sensation of her stomach plummeting to her feet. She didn’t have it finish; she knew who was buried there, so far away from the hallowed ground of the Phantomhive family plot. Once again, her feet seemed to move all on their own, though much slower this time, as though she were trudging through ankle-deep mud. They took her past the smiling demon around the side of the gravestone until she could read the inscription. The gravestone was clean, the grass beneath it well-kempt and bursting with white roses. The dark letters of epitaph stood out sharply in the moonlight.

_Sacred to the memory of Eleanor Grace Howard. Born 19 April, 1830. Died 30 June, 1849. Shed not for her the bitter tear, nor give the heart to vain regret. ‘Tis but the casket that lies here; the gem that filled it sparkles yet._

Who had commissioned such a sentiment? Who had picked the gravesite and paid for the undertaker’s services? Not her father, surely. The last time he spoke to her had been to disown her and vow that if he ever saw her again, he would commit her to a mental asylum. Martha and Jasper had predeceased her. That only left Claudia. Ellie’s indiscretion had led to the deaths of Claudia’s brother and sister-and-law, not to mention thrust her into the cancerous role of the Watchdog, and yet Claudia had buried her on her own land, with her own money and an epitaph from her heart. Ellie felt another painful shifting in her chest, and the back of her eyes started prickling warmly.

Her gaze dropped to the rosebush. It was sprawling and obviously not young or newly planted. Claudia must have planted it in her lifetime and ordered its upkeep after her death. It was a touching gesture, but Ellie was more concerned about what lay underneath the rosebush. Those beautiful flowers were feeding off the body beneath it. _My body. Me._ She felt a sudden sense of being torn in half and existing in two spaces at once. Part of her was moldering into dust under the earth, and part of her stood above it, a mere shadow. Which was real? Where did “she” exist?

Suddenly, she became aware of Sebastian’s breath on her neck. Without her noticing, he had drawn close enough to touch. “She was Lady Martha’s younger sister,” he said in a low voice, almost but not quite a whisper. “The two of them died on the same day, mere minutes from each other, if one can believe the old gossip. The elder sister died in her marriage bed, and the younger took her own life.” He did touch her then, a single finger on the back of her right hand, right in the center of her scar.

Immediately, Ellie felt a burst of hot pain shoot from the scar through the rest of her body, as though she had been electrocuted. With a scream, she jerked her hand away and clapped her other hand over the scar in a vain attempt to dull the agony. It hurt so badly that she dropped to the ground, unable to summon enough energy to keep her feet. Her Death Scythe fell to the grass with a quiet _whump_.

Ten seconds passed, then twenty. When she felt that she could tolerate the pain a little, she ripped her glove off her hand and examined the back of the offending hand. The half-formed Mark of the Covenant with which Victor had branded her stood out against her skin, so red that it practically glowed. What had been a series of ropy white marks was now clearly the top half of a pentagram. Looking at it brought a fresh surge of pain to her hand and tears to her eyes.

Above her, the demon let out a soft breath, its eyes widening a little. “I suspected as much. But to think that you would return here! I suppose there really are such things as vengeful ghosts. How very amusing.” His smile morphed into a full-blown sneer, revealing noticeably sharp fangs.

Ellie’s stomach plummeted. _He knows who I am_. His was the voice she had heard in the stables, which meant he must have recognized her from her face alone, as soon as he had seen her. And the Mark, the incomplete sign bonding her to Victor, had burned at his touch.

 _It’s him._ At long last, Victor stood before her again.

“You mother _fucker_!” she roared. The Death Scythe jumped to her palm. She leapt to her feet and swung with all the force of her hatred, but Sebastian was healthier that his counterpart. With barely any effort, he leaped up and back to avoid the arcing blade, landing some twenty feet up on a high branch of an oak tree. His balance was perfect.

From the ground, Ellie could see his lips move ever so slightly. His voice, rather than rising in volume and carrying down from the balcony, was clear and soft in her ear, as though he were leaning over and whispering to her. “Goodness, but you do have a temper. How very human of you.”

With a howl of frustration, Ellie drew back her arm, ready to throw her Death Scythe again. But she blinked, and Sebastian disappeared, a sound like the flapping of bird’s wings echoing in her ears. Gone again, but no farther than the manor house. He wouldn’t leave his master alone for too long. She started forward, intending to fly up to the great oak front doors and break them down if necessary.

Then she felt a hand close around the back of her collar and drag her back. “Hey, take it easy!” Ronald’s voice said from behind her. “It’s over, all right? He let you go.”

That phrase enraged her more than anything else she had experienced that night. She struggled to break free of Ronald’s grip, but he only planted his feet and gripped her blazer with both hands, as though he were restraining a dog. For such a skinny guy, he was much stronger than Ellie expected.

“Let me go!” she snapped. The note of desperation in her voice made her even madder.

“No way! You go in there without clearance, you’ll be up to your eyeballs in paperwork for the next century! I’m just trying to look out for you!”

She twisted her neck as far as she could and glared at Ronald. “You don’t get it! That demon killed my sister! He—” She broke off, unwilling to scream her own injuries for the world to hear.

She felt Ronald tense. “Wait, seriously? Did he say that?”

“He…implied it.” But that wasn’t strictly true, either. The butler had not said, directly or indirectly, anything that definitively proved that he was Victor. He had only reasoned out her identity and laughed at her a little, something any demon could and would do given the opportunity. Was that enough to risk termination and eternal punishment, with the real Victor beyond her reach for good? But the Mark, he had burned the Mark…but was it possible all demons could do that? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know what she didn’t know.

Ronald’s voice echoed her internal hesitation. “I think he was just trying to get a rise out of you. You know, throw you off a bit, so you wouldn’t take the Scythe to him. He might have even been scared.”

She shook her head. “No way. He wasn’t scared of me at all. He said—” Her hands curled into tight fists. “He said I was _amusing_.”

“Well, whatever it was, it’ll do more harm than good to go after him now, right? Look, let’s just go home. I’m gonna let you go, and then we’ll go home, okay?”

Nell wilted. “Yeah, okay.” Whatever was really happening, her hands were tied so long as she had a witness. Ronald may have hated troublesome work, but even he wouldn’t balk from telling Management on her. Otherwise, he could be terminated himself, and no Reaper wanted that. She would just have to wait for an opportunity to come back alone, when she could goad or torture Sebastian into revealing himself before ending him. _And that opportunity will come very soon, even if I make it myself._

As Ronald led her away, she could have sworn she heard mocking laughter from somewhere very close by.

 


	2. Review

Ellie slammed her hands onto Cartwright’s desk in frustration, upending some of his collection of ceramic bulldogs. “Why did no one tell me about him?”

Stone-faced, Cartwright reset his collection, taking special care with a brindle puppy with chipped paint balancing a beach ball on its nose. In life, he had been a regimental captain during the American Revolutionary War, so he was used to keeping his temper in the face of emotional subordinates. It was said that no one in the Dispatch had ever seen him upset, nor could anyone guess what could have affected him so profoundly that he had committed suicide.

Only after all his dogs were upright again did Cartwright turn back to Ellie. “Sit down, Howard. You’re making a scene.”

Ellie looked over her shoulder through the glass walls of Cartwright’s office. She was just in time to see several junior Security officers snap their heads back toward their own desks and scribble nonsense onto their paperwork. A few of the more senior officers glanced up briefly before returning to their own work, mouths thin with suppressed smiles.

With all the dignity she could muster, Ellie sat down stiffly, back straight and fists clenched. “Captain, with all due respect, I think I have a right to be angry.” Her voice trembled a little, so she took a deep breath to calm it. “You sent me, by myself, to defend Ronald and the soul he collected from one sickly, starving demon. That’s reasonable. You did _not_ tell me that there was a second, healthy demon near enough to interfere. I could’ve _died_ out there. Don’t you think that’s something I ought to have known ahead of time?”

Cartwright propped his elbows on the desktop, clasped his hands, and rested his chin atop his intertwined fingers. “Actually, yes, I do.” The look of mingled bewilderment and indignation on Ellie’s face made him smile. “In fact, I screamed myself hoarse at Management with the same argument, but they refused to budge. That particular demon is a well-behaved little lapdog who’s never given us any trouble before. Management was of the opinion that he would only attack if provoked—something which you absolutely would have done had you known he was there.” The smile slid off his face. “Clearly, they were right to think so.”

Ellie’s expression darkened and her fists clenched even tighter, but she managed to keep her voice even. “That butler was the demon my sister contracted with. I’m sure of it.” It had taken an entire sleepless night to sort through his words and actions, but she was indeed sure that Sebastian and Victor were the same demon.

“Oh, are you?” Cartwright replied, raising an eyebrow. “You confirmed it in his Record, then?”

Ellie winced. “N-No…”

“Then he told you who he was, despite the risk to his safety? And he said it in a way that couldn’t be interpreted as anything else?”

“No, but—”

“Then how can you be sure?”

“Because of the Mark!” She raised her right hand. Her gloves were on, but Cartwright knew what was branded there and why. “He knew the Mark was there, and when he touched it, it burned my hand. Who else but Victor could have done that?”

To her fury, Cartwright merely shrugged. “Perhaps all demons have that power. How would we know otherwise? It’s not as though we have an abundance of former contractees to study.”

“You have got to be—”

“And what’s more,” he went on, raising his voice, “whether he is or is not your sister’s killer is a moot point. Your orders were to supervise Josiah Bartlett’s examination and to defend his soul from demons who were actively trying to steal it. No one said anything about chasing after the demon once Knox collected the soul, or about engaging an entirely different demon.”

Ellie ground her teeth. “I thought my job was to kill demons.”

“Your job is to obey orders. If you’re incapable of that, then Management may just decide that atonement is beyond you and terminate you immediately. I don’t have to tell you what would happen then, do I?

She shook her head, barely moving. A terminated Reaper would once again become the soul of the human who had defied God by taking their own life. Still blackened and heavy with the grievous sin, the soul would be cast into Hell, where it would be punished and tormented for eternity. That was bad enough for most Reapers, of course, but there was an extra incentive for Ellie to avoid such a fate. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing what remained of her life while Victor still roamed the earth.

All the same, she couldn’t let this injustice go. “So that’s it, then? We do nothing? We just let that demon roam around doing whatever he pleases, just because he hasn’t stolen any souls yet?”

Cartwright sighed. A note of bitterness crept into his voice. “The demon calling himself Sebastian Michaelis is currently under contract to the young Earl Phantomhive. Humans who sell their souls have their names stricken from the To-Die List, which makes them officially not our concern. So long as the bargaining demon doesn’t steal souls it has no right to, Management considers it within its rights.”

Ellie stared at him. “Its _rights_? You think a demon has a _right_ to destroy people’s lives and murder traumatized children?”

“Demons must eat, the same as any other creature. Better that they find their dinner fairly, instead of stealing it straight off the To-Die List.”

“ _Fairly_?” She leapt to her feet again, too agitated to remain still. “That monster killed my sister! It killed _me_!”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

Ellie flinched as though struck, the color draining from her face. “I only killed myself so that the demon wouldn’t kill me first!”

There was no sympathy in Cartwright’s voice. “We all have our reasons, just as we all have our jobs. I expect you to do yours as well.” He put away the dossier and turned his attention to a large stack of some other paperwork, ignoring Ellie entirely. The interview was clearly over.

She stood up, pushed the chair in a little more violently than was warranted, and stalked back to her desk. The hesitant, curious eyes of her colleagues peeked at her as she passed. Seething, she sat down and throttled the stress doll Grell had given her last Christmas (“Loosen up, dearie! You’ll get wrinkles!”). It squeaked plaintively, eyes popping. Ellie imagined Sebastian’s smug little face superimposed on the doll and felt marginally better.

The afternoon dragged on. Cartwright stayed in his office. One by one, the other members of the department received their orders and left, off to accompany the Collections officers on their examinations. Only Ellie remained in place. She received no emails from Management, and no one stopped by her desk. Cartwright must have been punishing her for insubordination, or else (rightly) assuming that she was still too emotional to function out in the field. She tried to type up a report on yesterday’s excursion, but had to repeatedly delete large swathes of texts that sounded too petulant or aggressive.

When it became clear that she would get no actual work done today, she pulled up the department’s database and searched for active cases. She didn’t know the case number, but by searching for the sector containing the Phantomhive estate, she was able to track down the right files.

Sebastian Michaelis had evidently manifested in the human world nearly three years ago, drawn by the despair of a boy calling himself Ciel Phantomhive (the files said that this was an alias but did not list the real name). The boy and his twin brother, whose parents had been killed on the night of their tenth birthday, had been kidnapped and sold to a cult of devil worshippers who abused them horribly. It was the ritual sacrifice of “Ciel’s” brother that pushed him over the edge and caused him to summon Sebastian. The exact terms of their contract were unknown—all the Dispatch had to work with were the Records of the cultists, and Sebastian had killed them before any meaningful negotiation had taken place. Ellie could guess, however, that the boy wanted revenge on the parties that killed his parents and forced him and his brother into the cult’s path. She also guessed that, somehow, Sebastian had manipulated the traumatized boy into selling his soul, perhaps using the death of his brother to his advantage. _Not unlike Victor and Martha._

The rest of the file was slim. There had been plenty of deaths surrounding Ciel Phantomhive—he was, after all, the Queen’s Watchdog—but Sebastian had left their souls where they fell, apparently afraid to ruin his appetite. The status section on the front page blared that the case’s threat level was low, and that the demon required only moderate surveillance. Right underneath that section was the name of the officer assigned to the case: David Freeman, a seventy-year veteran.

Ellie glanced over at David’s empty desk. He spent most of his time out in the field nowadays and, so far as she could tell, hadn’t been at his desk all day. If monitoring Sebastian really was such an easy job, though, it was possible he may sneak back for a coffee break. Maybe she ought to sit in the break room and wait for him. It wasn’t as though she was needed here. _David won’t just hand over his case, of course, but maybe he could take a swipe at the bastard and find—_

A loud clatter broke through her thoughts. She turned to see that Cartwright had stood up with such force that he had knocked his chair over. Before the echoes died away, he had crossed the threshold of his office, pausing only long enough to slam the door behind him. His rake-like Death Scythe was clutched in his left hand.

He glanced around the empty office, muffed a curse, and called out to Ellie. “Howard, with me. Bring your Death Scythe.”

Ellie first grabbed her Scythe from where it leaned against the wall behind her, and then her hat from the corner of her desk. Jamming the latter on her head, she stood up and jogged after Cartwright, who had already taken off.

She caught up to him by the lift, just as the doors slid open. “Are we going below?” she asked as they stepped in, meaning the human world.

Cartwright shook his head, jamming the Close Doors button with more force than necessary. “Hospital. Maybe below after.”

“The hospital?” Her stomach plunged. “One of ours?”

“David Freeman.” He shot her a wry, forced smile. “Your little butler friend attacked him.”

-

They found William T. Spears standing sentinel outside David’s hospital room. There were no wrinkles in his suit, and his Death Scythe gleamed like new. Evidently, he had not seen it fit to defend David against the demon. Ellie felt a surge of distaste for the man.

Cartwright must have felt something similar, for his scowl seemed more pronounced than usual as it beheld Spears. “Any updates?”

Spears adjusted his perfectly-positioned glasses, his scowl a twin to Cartwright’s. “Surgery ended twenty minutes ago. The prognosis seems to be favorable. It seems you will be understaffed for some time, but not permanently.”

“Thank God,” Ellie muttered in relief. She did not know David well, but he was her colleague, and any fatality at the hands of a demon was a tragic one.

Cartwright’s scowl lessened, but the flint in his eyes remained. “What the hell happened out there? Weren’t you meant to be watching each other’s backs?”

Spears sniffed in self-righteousness. “I rather think _he_ was meant to be watching _my_ back. The duty of a Collections officer is to quietly and carefully examine the Cinematic Records of—”

“Yes, yes, we know,” Cartwright cut him off. This was not the first, or even the tenth, time that either of them had heard this speech. It was a common maxim among the younger Reapers that William T. Spears (who, if possible, should always be referred to by his full name) had learned the Dispatch rulebook and mission statement before his human body had grown cold. Of course, no one said this in Spears’s hearing, but Ellie doubted that he would disagree or take offense.

Spears raised an eyebrow and continued. “I was in the midst of the examination when the demon struck. As far as I can tell, it approached the tree where David Freeman was perched and called for him to come down so that they could speak. I couldn’t hear their conversation, so I turned my mind back to the Record. I had nearly completed reviewing it when I heard David Freeman scream.”

“What did you do then?” Ellie asked before she could stop herself.

Spears, always acutely aware of his rank, looked at Ellie the way one would look at a pile of dog leavings. “I completed the examination, of course. As I said—or started to, at any rate—the highest priority of a Collections officer is the soul he collects. Only once that was done did I investigate the scream.”

“And?” Cartwright prompted. A vein had begun to pulse in his forehead.

Spears explained that he had found David lying on his back at the base of the tree, bleeding heavily from a single gash in his chest. The demon had disappeared. Spears then hoisted David up, dragged him back to the Reaper world and the nearest hospital (finding time to clean the blood off his suit while he was at it), called Cartwright from the pay phone in the lobby, and waited for him to arrive to give his report. He said all of this with as few breaths as possible, speaking in a tone that suggested Cartwright ought to be profoundly grateful that he had taken such good care of someone not in his department.

When he had finished, he glanced at his watch. The frown lines between his eyes deepened. “Now, then. You seem to have things well in hand, so I’ll be off. I must complete my report to Management by the end of the day, and I refuse to work overtime.” Without waiting for a response, he marched off, needlessly adjusting his glasses again.

Cartwright suggested just what Spears could do with his overtime under his breath. Ellie had a childish urge to point out to him exactly why a stickler for the rules was a problem, but self-preservation made her bite it down. Cartwright looked about _this_ -close to pitching a fit as he yanked the door open and stalked inside.

The room had three beds pushed against the back wall, but only one of them was occupied. David was tucked in to the waist, with bandages wrapped around his chest and abdomen, as though he were a mummy. A nest of wires coiled from his limbs and into machines that beeped and whirred the rhythm of his life. An IV dripped slowly into his arm. His exposed skin was gray as ash, and he seemed to have shrunk two sizes since Ellie had last seen him. A matronly nurse hovered over his bed, scribbling on a clipboard.

Once Cartwright identified himself as David’s supervisor, she was far more willing to answer questions than Spears had been. Yes, David would very likely survive, although he would have a long and unpleasant convalescence. He had lost a lot of blood, but his vital organs were intact, although the surgeons had to remove his spleen. The cut was deep, but clean. No, she didn’t think it was a claw mark. Who had ever heard of a demon with only one claw? No, she had no idea what had cut him instead. She was a nurse, not a blacksmith.

“Do you think he could stand to lose a couple more drops of blood?” Cartwright asked. Ellie saw his grip on his Scythe tighten.

The nurse swelled like a bullfrog. “Absolutely not! The poor man’s half dead as it is! Do you mean to murder your own people?”

Cartwright put up his hands in supplication, trying to worm his way around her. “I just want to see his Record. The cut will be small, I promise.”

“Well, you can wait until he wakes up. He can tell you anything you want to know with his own mouth.”

“Ma’am, I don’t want to risk sending any more of my people into that demon’s path before I know why he turned feral. And I can’t just leave it running around unchecked.”

“And _I_ can’t have people carving up my patients!”

The argument continued, neither side gaining ground. Cartwright continued to try sidling around the nurse’s bulk, but she blocked him at every turn. He did, however, manage to position the two of them in such a way that the nurse had her back to David’s feet. Ellie, whom the nurse had long forgotten in the heat of the argument, was just skinny enough to fit in the gap between the nurse and the bed without bumping into anything. Slowly, carefully, she folded back the corner of the blanket until David’s wrinkly feet were exposed. Maneuvering her Death Scythe up against his skin took a little more work, but she managed to do it without knocking into anything.

Just as the nurse’s words rose to full-blown shrieks, Ellie slid the sharp edge of the Scythe across the heel of David’s right foot. A few drops of blood oozed out of the wound, followed by reams of his Cinematic Record, rewound and rewritten with his life as a Reaper. Ellie found the recording of that afternoon, then tilted her head back and let the images dance before her eyes.

-

David Freeman was starving. He had been daydreaming while cooking dinner the night before and nearly burned his flat down, and this morning he had overslept and ran out the door without so much as a slice of toast. In his long list of everything he wanted in life, a ham sandwich on rye was pretty near the top, right beneath the opportunity to go back in time and slap that pistol out of his fool hand before it went off. His current circumstances (sitting atop an oak branch with an empty belly and a tree bur digging into his ass, waiting for William T. Spears of all people to collect a soul before a demon did) were definitely at the bottom.

In all fairness, though, it could’ve been at lost worse. It was, after all, Sebbykins he was dealing with (the name had stuck after the incident with Grell Sutcliff, who refused to call the demon by any other name). That old crow never caused him any trouble, except for giving him the creeps every time he looked at him. Besides, he had scouted the manor house earlier and saw that the boy earl was entertaining his fiancée today. He would want his butler nearby. As far as David was concerned, he really had no reason to be there.

To take his mind off the hunger, he watched the spectacle down in the road. One of the old tenant farmers was in the middle of having a coronary. He had been driving a wagon filled with the fall harvest to the manor house, but his oxen had gotten free of the harness and bolted—as much as oxen could bolt, anyway. Even that, though, was too much for the old man. When he tried to chase after his beasts, his ticker took umbrage and handed in its resignation.

William T. Spears was already examining him, scribbling notes in his little book. The man had lived a long life, and his Record unfurled into the sky, but Spears took only cursory glances at his life. David didn’t blame him. The examinations were apparently a formality at the best of times, and there was no way an elderly, impoverished sharecropper would be influential enough to the human race to earn a second chance. This would only take a couple more minutes, and then David could run back home and sink his teeth into—

“Pardon me.”

The voice was at conversational volume, but it surprised David so much that he nearly toppled out of the tree. An icy jolt went up his spine, as though he’d just leapt into cold water. The exposed skin between his sleeves and his gloves was rough with goosebumps. Even before he peered down at the base of the trunk, he knew who would be standing there.

The demon, the one who was supposed to be safely ensconced in the manor house, smiled politely up at him. “Would you be so kind as to come down for a moment?” he called up. “I would like to ask a favor of you, and I’d rather not shout if I can help it.” In fact, he wasn’t shouting; the voice in David’s ear was as soft as if Sebastian had been sitting next to him.

 _A favor?_ What would a demon want from him, and what could he offer in return? This smelled like a rat to David. He looked over at Spears. The other Reaper’s shoulders had stiffened a little, but he made no acknowledgment of the demon’s presence and carried on with the old man’s Record. Good. Top priority was getting that soul out of reach.

Sebastian’s eyes hadn’t left David’s face, but it seemed that they hadn’t needed to. “You need not concern yourself. I am not hungry.” That was definitely a lie, or at least not the truth. He had been nearly three years in the human world, working on only one soul; he had to be starving. His eyes, though, were clear and intelligent. The dying man behind him didn’t seem to tempt him at all.

David hesitated, then dropped out of the tree, landing on the balls of his feet. _It’ll be fine. He’s never bared his fangs at me before. He’ll behave._ Still, his smile was a little forced. “How can I help you, Sebbykins?” The pet name might not have been the smartest idea, but David needed to assert some dominance. If the demon knew how distressed he was, it would be all over, good behavior or not.

Sebastian’s left eye twitched, but he otherwise ignored the name. “I’m afraid that I don’t have an abundance of free time, so allow me to get straight to the point: I would rather not see you again.”

David snorted. “Yeah, you and me both. Unfortunately for us, the Dispatch can’t allow even a collared demon to go running around unsupervised. You know better than that.”

“Indeed, and I have no objection so long as you do not interfere with my young master. However, I do not wish for you, specifically, to supervise me.” He bowed at the waist. “Please excuse me for not making myself clear earlier.”

That caught him off guard. “Yeah? What’s wrong with me, exactly?” Despite himself, a hint of indignation colored his tone.

“Nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Though, to be perfectly honest, I am quite annoyed that you did not step in when your colleague murdered several women and threatened my young master.”

He must have meant that nasty business with Grell in Whitechapel. As a Security officer, David’s business lay only with demons, so he never really interacted with Collections outside of acting as their bodyguards in the field. That was why, when he spotted Grell masquerading as a butler to Earl Phantomhive’s aunt, he assumed it was for some sort of undercover mission and didn’t report it to Cartwright. It wasn’t until the little lord stumbled upon Grell butchering a prostitute on behalf of his insane mistress that David realized something might be wrong. It wasn’t until later that he learned that, for over two years, Grell had been systematically killing women whose souls were not slated on the To Die List.

As it was, Sebastian was correct. Grell had gone a little mad with bloodlust (and actual lust), murdered her lady friend, and took several chunks out of the demon. However, at no point during their fight did David intervene, on behalf of either side. His orders were to conduct surveillance on the butler-demon and stop him from human souls apart from his master’s. The fact that he had called William T. Spears and told him what his subordinate was up to was already too charitable, as far as he was considered.

He shrugged. “I had my orders, same as you. You can’t blame a man for doing what he’s told, can you?”

Sebastian inclined his head. “That is certainly true, but all the same, I should feel more comfortable with another Reaper breathing down my neck.” He paused, and his smile thinned into a smirk. “Or rather, one particular Reaper. I request that Miss Howard take your place.”

David blinked. “Miss Howard? Wait, _Ellie_ Howard?”

 “The very same.”

That’s right—the captain had mentioned Ellie would cover him while he went to back up the Southern team. And when he’d stopped by the breakroom for his morning coffee (he had also hoped some kind soul had bought donuts for the office again, but no such luck), he’d overheard a few snatches of gossip from some of the new hires. From the sound of it, Ellie and Sebastian had gotten into some sort of altercation, and now she was in hot water over it. No surprise there—Ellie took the continued existence of every demon as a personal insult. What _did_ surprise him was the fact that a demon desired the company of a woman who was keen on murdering him.

David couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Aww, is someone in love?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Nothing so gauche. I simply find her amusing.” For a split second, his eyes flashed crimson and his pupils narrowed to slits.

That killed David’s merriment. Whatever Sebastian wanted with Ellie, it couldn’t be good. Why else would his human disguise falter, even for a moment, at the thought of her? His hand dropped to his belt, from which his Death Scythe hung.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, friend,” he said, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you. Even if the Dispatch took requests from demons—which they _don’t **—**_ Ellie’s got some sort of conflict of interest about this place. The only reason she was even here last night is ‘cause no one else was available. Let me tell you, I bet Management’s really kicking themselves over signing off on that.”

As he spoke, Sebastian’s neutral façade began to crack. A deep frown line furrowed in between his eyes, and his smile slowly curved downward. His eyes glowed red again. Seeing them, David took a step back, some of his fear curdling his stomach again. His hand groped for the shaft of his Scythe and found it, but did not pull it from his belt. A part of him still believed that Sebastian wouldn’t possibly be so bold as to attack a Reaper. There was just no way.

The demon sighed, affecting an expression of profound disappointment. “I see…that is truly a shame.”

David relaxed. _Thank God, he’s giving it up after all._ His hand dropped back to his side, his Scythe still in his belt. “Aw, cheer up. It’s probably for the best anyway. Ellie’s a looker, no doubt there, but in your case, she’d kill you soon as look at you. Probably not a good idea to have a girl like that hanging around.”

“I beg your pardon, but it seems you have misunderstood me again.” This time, when he smiled, David could see his fangs protruding from his lip. “I have asked you nicely, and you have refused. I regret that now I have to ask you less nicely.”

“What—?”

Sebastian’s arm shot out, too fast to follow. Before he could react, David was on the ground. His chest was burning, and his lungs refused to fill. Bright scarlet drowned the grass. He opened his mouth, but only bloody gurgles came out.

The demon knelt beside his head, his expression cool and even. There was something gleaming in his hand, stained red to the hilt. A dagger? A kitchen knife? David couldn’t tell. Fog rolled in front of his eyes, blurring the Sebastian’s face. His own eyes, red as the blood spewing from David’s chest, were sharp and magnetic.

“Do you understand now?” he murmured. His voice chilled the wound in David’s chest, freezing what little breath he had managed to grab. “You may consider that your final warning. Should I see you again, I shall consider you a threat to my young master and treat you as such. This applies to your other colleagues as well.” He leaned closer, his breath tickling David’s ear. “I shall accept Miss Howard only. Do please relay that to your superiors.”

David tried to speak—though he had no idea what he would say—but only choked on his blood. The fog darkened, and the chill intensified. The last thing he saw before he lost awareness was the sight of those horrible eyes, the eyes of the apex predator staring down his dinner.

-

With a gasp, Ellie pulled away and put a hand to her chest, half expecting a knife wound there. Her other hand grasped the bedframe for support, and her Death Scythe fell to the linoleum with a clatter. Cartwright’s broad hands clamped down on her shoulders, anchoring her back to her own existence. The Record, uncollected, rewound back into the wound in David’s foot.

It felt like a lifetime before she could stand unaided. Gingerly, she took her hand off the bed and shrugged Cartwright’s hands off. She then bent down to pick up her Death Scythe, but her head swam and she dropped to the floor. “I’m all right,” she insisted, waving Cartwright away. “Just not used to Reaper Records, you know? Different feel.”

Over her protests, Cartwright got her back on her feet. “That nurse went running for the head surgeon,” he explained, gesturing to the empty room. “They’ll kick us out in a moment. I hate to do this, but I don’t have time to look at Freeman’s Record myself. Tell me what you saw.”

Ellie obliged, using as few words as possible. Cartwright’s expression changed from concerned, to confused, to thunderous as she recounted what happened. “That son of a bitch,” he growled when she had finished. He wasn’t alone; with every word, Ellie felt herself growing stronger and angrier…and more excited, too.

“I have to go,” she finished. “Captain, you have to tell Management to give me the Phantomhive assignment.”

His face paled a shade or two as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. That demon’s up to no good. Whatever his game is, I refuse to play. I’ll go myself if that’s what it takes.”

“Then he’ll kill you in David’s place.”

“He’ll try.”

“He will,” Ellie insisted. “You didn’t see him, sir. He’s perfectly willing to kill as many of our people as possible.”

“And what if he kills you? What if he’s just asking for you because he’ll know you’ll lose your temper, and that he could kill you easily then?”

Ellie was too wound up to take offense. “I don’t think that’s it. He said I was—” Her hands clenched into tight fists. “He said I was _amusing_. I don’t know, maybe he sees me as some kind of toy to play with?” An image of Victor kissing her neck leapt to her mind, and she waved it away with a grimace. Cartwright still looked obstinate, so she twisted the knife and gestured to David’s comatose body. “Forgive my impertinence, sir, but if I don’t go, every single one of our people could end up like that, or worse. We’ve lost too many people this year as it is. What would you rather lose, one Reaper or one department?”

Cartwright looked at her, then David, then her again. His pallor glowed in the sterile hospital light. At last, he heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You follow your assignments to the letter. You don’t interfere with him unless he steps out of line. You don’t so much as speak to him unless absolutely necessary—and it will never be necessary.”

Her heart swelled, but she managed to keep her expression calm. “Yes, sir.”

“Those are your orders. Anything beyond them is insubordination, and you know what happens to you then. Don’t think I’ll step in for you the way Spears did for Sutcliff. You won’t get a leave of absence, that’s for sure.”

“Understood.” Victor’s face appeared in her mind’s eye again, and this time, she stared him down. _I have to know. Whatever the cost, I have to know that I’ve killed you._


	3. To Die For

An hour after her shift ended, Ellie stepped off the lift onto Grell’s floor, a bag of Molly’s Famous Fish ‘N Chips dangling from each hand. There were no sounds coming from any of the surrounding flats. Grell lived in a cheap singles dormitory for mid-level Dispatch employees, so it was likely her neighbors were either still on the clock or out celebrating the end of another day. There would be no one to listen at knotholes for snatches of their conversation.

Well, almost no one. At the end of the hall, Sarah Hastings from Internal Affairs stood guard in front of Grell’s door. She was a heavyset, muscular woman, a former blacksmith’s wife who worked the forges while her husband slept off his constant hangover. Her strength made her a perfect fit for the job of corralling Grell in her house arrest, as did her gender. Evidently, the Disciplinary Committee had appointed three guards prior to Sarah, all lithe and dark-haired men, just Grell’s type. They had all quit within a week, sick of the never-ending sexual harassment.

“Evening, Sarah,” Ellie said as she approached. “You like extra vinegar, right?” She lifted one of the bags and shook it. The smell of fried grease wafted enticingly through the air.

Sarah grinned, showing off the dark gaps between her teeth. “You’re an angel, Ellie.”

“Then what the hell am I doing here?” They shared a chuckle. Ellie handed over the bag and waved away Sarah’s offer of repayment, which made the larger woman grin even wider. “Grell lose her visitor privileges yet?”

“I’d send you in even if she had.” She took a fistful of chips from the bag and stuffed them in her mouth, chomping like a horse. “It’ll keep her from screechin’ bloody murder at me for a while.” There was no resentment in her tone, just the matter-of-fact observation of an experienced veteran.

“Well, thanks for warming her up for me. Enjoy your supper.”

 “I’ll do just that.” She stepped aside, inhaling chips. Ellie lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles sharply on the door.

Before even five seconds had passed, the door burst open; Ellie had to scramble backward to avoid a smack in the face. Grell leaned against the frame, scantily clad in a lacy red shift and leather garters. The shift went down to about mid-thigh and left nothing to the imagination. Ellie caught of glimpse of what Grell called her “contradiction” and looked away in distaste.

“Well, _hiii_ there, sexy—oh. It’s you.” Grell straightened up, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Am I interrupting your date night?”

She heaved a sigh. “I _wish_. Those buff I.A. boys couldn’t take a little fun and tattled on me. Will said he’d come down here and ‘discipline me himself’ if I couldn’t behave, sooo….” She gestured to her lingerie, her smile tinged with sheepishness.

Ellie rolled her eyes. As usual, Grell only had one thing on her mind. Aside from making for dull conversation, Ellie was afraid that constant libido was going to get Grell into serious trouble someday. Sooner rather than later, too, if her perpetual gushing over her demonic new crush was any indication. Ellie knew the dangers better than anyone. Giving Victor her virginity had directly led to her own death, so even after this long, she wasn’t keen on sharing her bed again.

She would have loved to say all this to Grell, but she would have far better luck commanding her rotting corpse to spring back to life. Instead, she settled for saying, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Hope he doesn’t keep you waiting long.” She started to turn around.

“W-Wait a minute!” Grell said. She seized Ellie’s arm and dragged her over the threshold, clinging to her like a toddler to its mother. “Wh-What’s your hurry? Will’s not here yet, you know, and you came all this way. I’m not really dressed for entertaining—” She grabbed her coat from the chair she had flung it on and wriggled into it. “—but I _suppose_ I could keep you company for a little while.”

In spite of the day she had had, Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?”

“I’m _dying_ , dearie.”

Ellie gently pried her arm out of Grell’s vise grip. “Well, you won’t die of hunger, at least. Molly’s has cod and haddock today. Which do you want?”

Grell took one look at the fast food bag and gave a disdainful sniff. “I can’t eat that swill! It’ll go straight to my derriere!”

“Suit yourself,” Ellie said with a shrug. “Though some men like big girls, you know?” Not that she’d had any experience with such things, but she’d heard enough of Ronald’s drunken ramblings to feel confident in her assessment.

Grell hesitated, but then shook her head. “My Will doesn’t, though. He likes ‘em slight and svelte, just like him.” This time, her sigh was one of longing instead of exasperation.

Ellie had serious doubts about the source and accuracy of that information, but she decided to keep it to herself. She walked over to Grell’s little wood table, set the bag on top of it, and unpacked two bottles of beer and two plastic boats overflowing with fish and chips. She set a bottle and boat at each end of the table, then went to get some napkins from the kitchen.

When she came back, she saw Grell hovering over the table, eyeing the food. Her stomach let out a plaintive gurgle, making her jump and blush. “Can I have the haddock?” she mumbled at her stilettos.

“It’s at that end. Want a glass for your beer?”

“Yes, please.”

She got two clean glasses from the drying rack and poured for the both of them. They sat down, clinked the glasses in a silent toast, and attacked their food. Grell groaned like a martyr and pinched her bottom with every bite, but she also licked her fingers and didn’t leave so much as a speck of batter behind.

When their boats were clean and in the trash, and they were down to the last few sips of beer, Grell leaned forward and propped her elbows up on the table. The meal had obviously improved her mood; she had a lazy grin spreading across her face, and her cheeks were rosy with alcohol and company.

“So, how can Big Sister help?” she asked, slurring her words a little. “You didn’t come all this way just to watch me grow a dress size, did you?”

Frowning, Ellie took a sip of her drink. She had bought the beers hoping that the alcohol would calm her nerves a little, but all it had done was make her feel vaguely nauseated. Vomiting onto Grell’s hardwood floor would be the cheery on top of her miserable day. She swallowed thickly, grimacing at the cheap aftertaste.

“I need your advice,” she said at last, then lifted her glass again.

“Don’t let him go down on you until the second date.”

The beer went down the wrong tube. Ellie doubled over, red-faced and hacking. Grell sprang up, went around the table, and thumped her hard on the back a few times. “Hey, don’t drown yourself at my nice table. Offing yourself the first time didn’t work out so great, you know?” She giggled at her gallows humor.

Ellie cleared her throat, coughed, and straightened up. “That is _not_ what I wanted to know,” she croaked, glowering.

The giggles became guffaws. “Oh, lighten up, dearie! I was just kidding. Maybe you _do_ need a man to relieve some of that tension. I’ve got a few suggestions—”

“Fuck you. Never mind.” She stood up to leave.

Grell grabbed her shoulders and began massaging them—or rather, squeezing and hitting them painfully. “All right, all right, I’m sorry. I won’t poke fun at you any more tonight, I promise. Please tell me what’s wrong? Pretty please?” She batted her eyes and made kissy faces until Ellie smiled.

“Fine. But, er…” Ellie glanced over her shoulder at the front door. There were no sounds coming from the other side; Sarah had long finished her food and had gone back to guard duty. She didn’t seem like the type to eavesdrop, but the night was long and Grell was loud. If she picked up on too much of the conversation, she might be concerned enough to tell her boss in Internal Affairs, who would tell Cartwright, who would tell Management, who would take Ellie off the Phantomhive case at the very least.

Grell followed her gaze, then grinned and winked theatrically. “Ooh, that reminds me. That rugged delivery boy brought me new war paint today. Let’s play dress-up.”

Ellie grimaced. “I’ll pass, thanks.” Cosmetics made her face feel heavy and unnatural. No matter how much Grell cooed over her when she wore them, she always thought she looked like a clown.

“But how will I know if they’ll look good on me? None of the other girls have my skin tone, you know!”

“Why did you buy them if you didn’t know how they would look?”

“Just come on already.” She grabbed Ellie’s arm and dragged her off to the bedroom. Ellie put up a token resistance for the benefit of eavesdroppers, then relaxed a little. The further away they were from the front door, the better.

Grell’s bedroom was messy, as usual. The bed was unmade, clothes in various shades of red were flung about at random, and there were used mugs all over the nightstand and the dressing table. There was a large box on the bed, backed to the brim with paints and powders. Grell didn’t bother to make excuses or tidy things up, but instead put her hands on Ellie’s shoulders and plopped her down on the foot of the bed. “Take your glasses off. Don’t want to smudge them.” Ellie reluctantly obeyed, and the world blurred into obscurity. She had to squint so badly to see that her eyes became mere slits.

Grell turned on every light in the room (but drew the curtains almost casually as she passed), then grabbed the stool from in front of her dressing table and dragged it in front of the bed, less than a foot from where Ellie sat. Next, she rummaged around in the box, selected a few promising containers, spread them out on the bed like a deck of cards, and took a seat on the stool. After another careful inspection of her choices, she picked up a tube of foundation, unscrewed the cap, and poured a few drops onto a tissue from the dressing table.

With all the prep work done, she scooted closer to Ellie, contemplated her face the way an artist contemplates a blank canvas, and began dabbing the tissue on her cheeks. “Now, tell me all about it,” she said with an expression of intense concentration. “But don’t move your face too much.”

Staying as still as possible and taking care not to open her mouth too wide, Ellie told her everything, starting from the moment she had left the Phantomhive stables to chase after the cowardly demon. Her voice shook at times, but her eyes remained dry and her hands remained motionless. When she got to the part about finding her own gravestone, she had to pause and collect her thoughts, feeling slightly ill. Grell did not press her, nor did she let out anything besides a soft squeal of delight when Ellie mentioned Sebastian. While Ellie relayed Sebastian’s ultimatum to David, however, Grell frowned, brow furrowed.

By the time the narrative was through, Grell had applied the foundation, rouge, lipstick, mascara, and eyeshadow. She fumbled behind her for a hand mirror from the dressing table. “Ta-da!” she said, whipping the mirror around her like a presenter taking a sheet off some exciting surprise. “Don’t you just look fabulous? The boys will fall all over themselves to get to you!”

Ellie gingerly put her glasses back on and studied her reflection. As usual, she didn’t like what she saw. The cosmetics made her eyes and lips look too large, like one of those creepy Bisque dolls. Her reddened cheeks put her in mind of Victor. He had made her blush just like that, right up until she shrugged off her modesty with her clothing. Her stomach churned with guilt and revulsion, and she pushed the mirror away.

“I look like a prostitute,” she muttered. She felt like one, too. Her mind jumped to the streetwalkers Grell had killed as “Jack the Ripper,” and she shuddered.

Grell scoffed. “Don’t be silly. You look very classy—but come to think of it, maybe you could stand a lighter shade. That lovely red is bleeding all the color out of you. What a waste.” She sighed and shook her head. “So, not that I’m not flattered, but why exactly did you come to me with this? That beastly Disciplinary Committee won’t let me out to play, and they took away my beautiful customized Death Scythe, so it’s not like I can help you at work. And don’t even _think_ about asking for dating advice. Even if Sebbykins is too gorgeous for you to help yourself, _I_ saw him first!” Her voice was cheery enough, and she was still smiling, but there was a predatory glint in her eye.

“Keep him,” Ellie said immediately, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’d rather court a rabid crocodile.”

She had hoped that sentiment would make Grell feel better, but she only bristled further. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“What’s—Grell, he’s a _demon_.”

“Does that matter?”

“You know it does.” This she said quietly, with an undercurrent of anger like a rip tide.

“Well, that’s true.” Grell wilted, her expression serious again. She was one of the few people to whom Ellie had told her history in full. “So how _can_ I help?”

Ellie considered her words very carefully before answering. There could be no misunderstanding here, for either of them. “You fought him. Before, when he and his little master caught on top what you were doing. Not only that, but judging from David Freeman’s report, you were actually holding your own for a while.”

“Oh, go on,” Grell said, preening a little under the praise.

“It may take some time, but sooner or later, I’ll have to fight him myself. I don’t particularly care if he kills me in the process, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t take him down with me.” She paused, noting the way Grell bit her bottom lip. “I need you to tell me about your fight with him. His moves, his strengths, his weaknesses, anything that could help me beat him.”

Frowning, Grell began examining her manicured, painted nails. “Hmm…well, I do get what you’re trying to say, but I think it’d be better off for everyone if you avoid a tussle.” Her cheeks flushed without the aid of rouge, and her eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands together in delight. “After all, that night of passion with my Sebbykins…our bodies crashing together again and again…” She squealed. “I won’t share that passionate feeling with anyone else! The only one who can reach the ultimate climax with Sebbykins is me!”

“…Sorry, whatever language that is, I don’t understand it. Are you saying that you want to kill Sebastian yourself?”

“Oh, my.” She averted her eyes and self-consciously tapped her index fingers together a few times. Her face was almost as red as her hair. “It’s sort of embarrassing to hear it spoken so plainly, isn’t it? Not all that romantic, though.”

“That’s how you’re supposed to say it.” She sighed. “Can’t you just tell me one little thing? Please? We’re talking about my peace of mind here, if not necessarily my life.”

Grell took about a minute to think it over, tapping her cheek in an exaggerated manner. “I suppose there’s no harm in one teensy-weensy little detail, but I’m not sure what would—oh, right. There’s the boy.”

“Boy? You mean the contractor?” She could feel her pulse, such as it was, throughout her entire body. She tried slowing her breathing, but the tension refused to abate.

“That’s right. The little Phantomhive brat. Ciel, or whatever his real name is. Sebbykins is quite taken with him. I suppose you could call that a weakness?”

“Of course. Sebastian probably has orders to protect his master at all costs. Even if he doesn’t, this is his next meal we’re talking about. Obviously, he wouldn’t want to lose his dinner, especially if he’s put two years into preparing it.” Talking about the boy in such terms made her stomach roil, but this was no time of delicacy. With any luck, she could save his life before the demon finished setting the table, as it were.

“I think there’s a bit more to it then that. See, while I was having a tumble with Sebbykins—”

“Please stop calling it that.”

“—that boring old Madame Red had her nephew at knifepoint. She had him by the throat, but in the end, that silly woman lost her nerve. Not that Sebbykins could tell. As soon as Madame lifted the knife, he stood me up and ran to his little twerp’s side. Only, I’d pinned him down with my Death Scythe. When he broke away, the blade nearly sliced his arm off! He bore it bravely, but I could tell the poor lamb was in a world of hurt.”

“So what? Your late partner in crime was about to kill the boy and put his soul beyond Sebastian’s reach. It’s only natural that he would prioritize his master’s safety and not think about his own.”

Grell leaned forward on her stool, grinning like a cat. “Except he _was_ thinking about it. My Death Scythe was just a hairsbreadth above his shoulder. There’s absolutely no way he wouldn’t have realized that jerking away like that might cost him his arm, and yet he did it anyway. Your average demon wouldn’t put himself through so much pain and bother just for half a mouthful he could get anywhere, right?”

Ellie considered this. She had never dealt with a contracted demon before, only wild ones with no obligation to the souls they consumed, so she couldn’t say for sure how the former would behave. Still, what Grell described didn’t align with her experience. When confronted with opposition, most demons would put up token resistance to test the waters, and then run away once it was clear they were in for a serious fight. Only the most hungry and desperate demons would continue, and even then, a Reaper could drive it away most of the time.

But here was Sebastian, who had turned his back on an aggressive Reaper with a ridiculously over-the-top and dangerous Death Scythe, risking his life and almost losing his arm in the process. All for the sake of rescuing Ciel from a woman who never intended to kill him. Why would he go so far? It couldn’t possibly be some form of emotional attachment—demons were creatures without hearts, incapable of loving anything but themselves, if that. Either Ciel’s soul was something truly special, or Sebastian was too proud to give it up. Ellie wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred.

“I see,” she said at last. “That’s good to know.”

“Right? If you and Sebbykins ever end up going at it, all you’d need to do is take a swipe at the brat. Sebbykins will forget all about you and rush to save him, and that’s when you can strike.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be possible.”

“That’s probably true, actually. The only reason Sebbykins didn’t actually kill Madame is because the brat told him not to. You won’t have that luxury, and I don’t think you can avoid him on your own. You’re pretty slow, huh?”

That wasn’t what Ellie had meant. Even if she was sure that she could both get to Ciel in time and avoid Sebastian’s retaliation, she couldn’t attack the boy. He was Claudia’s grandson, still just a child. In another world, one without demonic influence, he would have been her own grandnephew. More than that, though, Ciel didn’t deserve to suffer for something Sebastian had did ( _or may have…no, definitely, he definitely did_ ) long before he was born. Despite the fact that Ciel had brought Sebastian into the world through his despair and faithlessness, Ellie couldn’t bring herself to blame him. When she looked at his photograph, all she could see was Martha. The contract must have been the result of some subtle trick or manipulation on Sebastian’s part, just like before. Ellie would need to come up with some other method, one that did not threaten the boy.

Grell’s hands clapped down on Ellie’s shoulders, breaking her out of her reverie. “You’re no airhead, Ellie, but I’ll say this again, just in case you missed it the first time.” She grinned, showing off her pointed teeth. There was a bloodthirsty gleam in her eye. “You and Sebbykins can have as many meaningless little one-night stands as you want, but don’t you start thinking about _commitment_. Wound him, debone him, cut off his limbs, but make sure you leave him alive for me.”

Ellie smiled back, trying to make it look playful. “Or else?”

Grell’s own smile shrank into nothing. Was the look that remained, Ellie wondered, the last thing those women saw before those whirring blades tore them apart? “Well, you know, a lady never tells. So I’ll just say that I like you, Ellie, but I like my Sebbykins so much more.”


	4. Unquiet Spirit

Ellie’s first official assignment as Sebastian Michaelis’s minder happened the next day, during the night shift. She was teamed up with Ronald again, who kept shooting her apprehensive looks when he thought she wasn’t looking.

The To-Die List had twenty souls for him to collect, a score of low-level mobster minions who would die on the Phantomhive back lawn from causes ranging from exsanguination to broken spines. This was a regular occurrence, which did not surprise Ellie. Like Jasper and Claudia before him, little Ciel was tasked with policing Great Britain’s underworld as the Queen’s Watchdog. At times, that meant killing criminals and destroying illegal enterprises. Even in Jasper’s time, it had not been unheard of for the leftover dregs of such broken gangs to sneak onto the Phantomhive estate in search of vengeance. That was why, back then, every member of the household, including (and especially) the servants, were trained in some form of combat. Ellie supposed that the tradition continued to this day, with Sebastian taking up the role Shunji Tanaka had played.

“Management really gets on my ass about jobs like this,” Ronald complained as they took the shuttle down to the human world. “Sometimes that hodgepodge bunch of servants pick off a few souls, but it’s mostly Sebbykins who takes the kills. And there are always all these memos on my desk, saying how I have to _quadruple-check_ that he doesn’t take it a step too far and start chowing down.” He rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, I get not trusting _him_ , but don’t they trust me at all?”

Ellie didn’t answer. Her fists clenched and unclenched around the shaft of her Death Scythe. When she blinked. She could see blood-colored eyes staring at her.

The shuttle dropped them off at the Gates, the large and industrial barrier separating the human world from the Reaper world. Ronald gave the preapproved card with the assignment’s coordinates to the porter, who countersigned it and pressed a few buttons. The Gates opened with a grating electric whir. Blinding white light shone through the crack, growing brighter as the opening widened. Ellie closed her eyes and waited for the cold beam to engulf her.

There was a sharp jerk in her midsection, as though someone had put a leash through her belt loop and yanked her forward. The temperature dropped, distant voices drowned out the whine of the gates, and the air grew full and rancid with the smells of life. Ellie opened her eyes and found herself on the roof of a London townhouse. The streets below were packed with humanity, though the sun was sinking fast. As always, she felt a little pang looking down at them, somewhere between envy and loneliness.

Beside her, Ronald swore. “Again? Can’t those porters do anything right? We’re nowhere _near_ the bloody mansion!”

Ellie checked her watch; they had about twenty minutes to get to the estate before the first soul’s time of death. For once, the Dispatch’s neurotic policy was to their advantage. “Come on, let’s start walking.” She hopped over to the next roof, landing softly and without disturbing a nearby flock of crows. Ronald groaned but followed suit.

The average Reaper could move at four times the speed of the fastest human, and they could leap great distances with ease. Nevertheless, the Phantomhive manor was thirty miles from the heart of London, and the two of them made it with only five minutes to spare. They could see dark shapes rustling about in the bushes, whispering to each other. One of them was trying to calm his nerves with a cigarette, and the smoke singed the fresh forest air.

 _Amateurs, the lot of them_ , Ellie thought with a smile. She perched on a sturdy tree branch high off the ground, where she had an excellent view of the lawn. Ronald positioned himself at the base of another tree, closer to the manor house. Together, they watched as the assassins crept out of the tree line, guns aloft.

The first one dropped twenty feet from the door, a muffled crack cutting through the night. His neck had twisted all the way around, like an owl’s. The man behind him had hardly registered his comrade’s demise before he dropped next, gushing blood from a slashed throat. A few others stopped and opened their mouths to cry out, but fell in silence, their skulls crushed like walnuts. Others lifted their guns but could not pull their triggers in time. One by one, the murderers were murdered. Their final death-cries were muzzled, so the sleeping boy within the manor could not hear them. The blood splatter was contained to a small stretch of grass, which the servants could easily hose down or rake over the next morning. The whole affair took less than two minutes.

As the first man died, Ronald revved the motor of his Death Scythe and rode it over to him. He cut the man’s leg, and the Record unraveled into the air. Rather than begin the examination, though, Ronald wheeled over to the next victim. The thorough check would come later. For now, he just needed to see that the Records existed, as they meant that the souls were whole and uneaten.

Above him, Ellie kept her eye on the dark blur zooming around the lawn, leaving bodies in its wake. Sebastian moved too fast for his victims to see, but Ellie could make him out well enough to see his carnivorous grin. Instead of fangs and claws, his weapons were his crushing grip and (of all things) his master’s silverware. Ellie cringed as a fish knife pierced a would-be killer’s kidney. Did the Phantomhive guests, not to mention the lordling himself, really eat with that used silver? Perhaps he was rich enough to buy a whole new set after his butler finished playing.

There were no problems, of course. Sebastian reveled in the hunt, judging by the look on his face, but as soon as an intruder’s heart stopped, he would turn away and move on to the next without a pause. Hungry as he was, the souls didn’t tempt him at all. When all twenty men were dead, he nodded in satisfaction and returned to the manor. If he noticed either Reaper, he didn’t acknowledge them. Ellie realized that she had been holding her breath and let it out slowly.

Ronald took another ten minutes to process the souls and snip off the Records. “Easy-peasy,” he said when he had finished. “Looks like we can leave on time today, too. Hey, about that drink—”

“You go ahead. There’s somewhere I want to visit before I go back.”

Ronald’s smile faded. “Er…”

“I’ll file your after-action report for you if you don’t tell.”

“Whoa, seriously?” Bright-faced again, he pinched his thumb and forefinger and drew them across his lips in a zipping motion. “Mum’s the word. What’ll I do with my free time…?” He hopped back on his Death Scythe and rolled away, whistling.

Once he had gone, Ellie jumped to the branch of a second tree, then a third, and so on. She made no sound as she moved. Gradually, the mansion faded behind her. The forest thickened, then thinned to only a few scraggly saplings.

When there were no trees left at all, she descended to ground level and walked. The grass beneath her feet grew trimmed and shiny. Before long, she found herself at the wrought iron gates of the Phantomhive cemetery. They were closed, but it was no problem for a Reaper like her to slip through the bars. Once could not lock Death out. She did not know where the bodies she sought were buried, but she remembered that newer graves were closer to the back of the plot. She picked her away among the gravestones, feeling a chill in her chest. Centuries of earls and countesses melted away behind her.

At the start of the back row, furthest on the left, she found Jasper. He had died of fright in his marriage bed, unable to comprehend Victor’s true form. Martha’s prize, for whom she had sold her soul, ended up as collateral damage. For all their pretty words, demons never truly gave you what you wanted. Ellie spent a few moments with Jasper, in memory of their broken engagement, but moved on quickly.

Buried next to him was his countess of three hours. That had been enough time for her to take his name and earn a place in the family cemetery. Ellie felt her eyes grow hot as she knelt before the stone. _Martha Louise Phantomhive_ , it blared in stark, empty letters. _Born 14 February, 1828. Died 30 June, 1849. Gone too soon._

She couldn’t help but snort. Too soon indeed! The physician told Martha and her family that the consumption would kill her within two years, but Victor had torn her to shreds long before that deadline—both literally and figuratively. Ellie morbidly wondered exactly how much of her sister they had been able to collect for burial.

She pressed her forehead against the cold stone, shivering a little. “Almost done,” she whispered to the butchered remains beneath her. “This will all be over soon.” Perhaps what little of her soul remained undigested could have some peace once Victor was dead.

When she had gotten to her feet and turned around, she saw Sebastian waiting for her one row of graves away. She was neither surprised nor disappointed to find him there.

“Well, here I am,” she said in a taut voice. She had her Death Scythe in hand, but she kept it down at her side with the axe head pointing behind her.

He bowed deeply, as though to an important and influential guest of his master. “Welcome back, Miss. I am so pleased to see you again.”

_Yes, I imagine so. You won’t be for too much longer, though._

They eyed each other, Sebastian with unaffected poise and Ellie tense and wary as a wounded cat, thinking hard. She had imagined a thousand different endings to this scenario, most of which ending in failure. It wasn’t just that she doubted that she could overcome Sebastian in a physical fight. A demon’s preferred hunting method was to twist the truth until it became unrecognizable, then pepper its victim’s soul with their own fears and inadequacies until, finally, they would jump into its maw willingly. Ellie may not have been human anymore, but that tactic could still apply to her—after all, a Reaper was nothing more than a bodiless, unquiet soul. She had to remain in complete control of the situation, and the only way to do that was through a direct, verbal confrontation, while making sure to avoid the demon’s pitfalls and ambiguities.

“Did you kill Martha Howard?” she asked without preamble. “Did you eat my sister’s soul?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, but his smile did not falter. “I did not.”

“Have you ever gone by the name Victor Sinclair?”

“I have not. Who might that be, if I may ask?”

She ignored him. “Did you know me when I was human?”

“No. I had never met you before the other night.”

“Then how did you know who I was? Why did you tell me to look at my grave?”

Sebastian cocked his head to the side slightly, but righted it after only a few seconds. “I beg your pardon; my answer just now was somewhat misleading.” Ellie snorted, which he ignored. “While it is true that I had never _met_ you previously, I had _seen_ you before. Or rather, your portrait. That is how I guessed your name.”

Ellie blinked, caught off guard. “Portrait?”

“Indeed. It is hanging in the manor’s library. The likeness is extraordinary, which is why I recognized you straightaway. Your name, of course, I gleaned from the title of the piece.” His smile widened, and his eyes seemed to grow a shade brighter. “If I recall correctly, the young master’s late grandmother painted it. By all accounts, she was very talented.” He paused, observing her with interest, like a scientist examining a specimen beneath a microscope.

Ellie closed her eyes and breathed deeply. As expected, the demon was picking at her weakness, trying to make her emotional. Well, it wasn’t going to work. She wouldn’t use her Death Scythe, no matter how tightly her fist clenched around it or how much her hand shook. She wouldn’t lose her temper, no matter how much he mocked her. Above all, she would not glance behind her at the row of graves, one of which undoubtedly marked Claudia’s own eternal resting place.

“And my brand?” she asked, not trusting herself to open her eyes. “How did you know about that?” Called to attention, the half-formed Mark on her hand tingled and warmed.

Sebastian’s voice had an undercurrent of mockery to it. “Why, any demon could tell that much. Your confidant has placed his mark on you; such a thing can never be expunged, no matter how much time has passed. You will always carry his scent.”

Ellie’s eyes snapped open, flashing in rage. “He is _not_ my confidant! I refused his offer!”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Now, is that really the truth?”

She briefly shut her eyes again, struggling to regain control. When she opened them and spoke, her voice was calm and sturdy. “Speaking of being misleading, maybe I ought to clarify something. Those questions I asked you before were not for ‘Sebastian Michaelis,’ butler to the Phantomhive family. I’m talking to the person—no, the _thing_ that existed before Ciel Phantomhive was born.”

Sebastian moved his arms out to the side, slightly away from his body with the palms open toward Ellie, as if inviting her to take a thorough look at the figure before her. “I fear that ‘Sebastian Michaelis’ is the only part of me in existence. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.”

She scowled. _So that’s how it is, is it?_ In other words, no matter what she asked or how specific her words, Sebastian would choose to answer only in relation to his current self—the self that had only been in existence for three years or so, and therefore could not possibly know anything about the events of Ellie’s lifetime. It was not the truth, but it was technically not a lie either. Fine. If that was the case, then she had no choice but to go straight to the source.

Smiling sweetly, she swung her Death Scythe up and around to slap against the upturned palm of her other hand. “I don’t suppose you would mind showing me your Cinematic Record, would you? Just as a precaution. Don’t worry, the cut doesn’t need to be very deep.”

As expected, Sebastian shook his head, though it was with an air of regret rather than discomfort or fear. “Sadly, I do mind. My young master will be entertaining a large number of guests tomorrow evening, and I shall need to be at my best in order to serve them. Even a very small injury might be detrimental to my abilities.” His lips curled back, revealing shrunken fangs. “After all, it has been quite a while since I have last eaten, and I cannot waste my strength healing paper cuts.”

Unconcerned, Ellie let her Death Scythe fall back to her side again. She was not afraid of a few teeth. As far as she knew, Reaper souls were inedible to demons, so even if Sebastian bit her to death, he would derive no satisfaction from it. “Not a problem. You’ve probably already guessed this, but my employers decided to grant your request and station me here for the foreseeable future. I’ll have plenty of time to see your Record later.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He did sound genuinely glad, which put Ellie on edge. “And now I suppose you wish to know why I was so adamant to have you?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “I already do, even though I couldn’t possibly care less. David told me about your little temper tantrum.” Better not to add _how_ had told her, or that he had yet to awaken from his coma. She refused to give Sebastian the satisfaction. “Something about me being amusing?”

Sebastian chuckled. “That is certainly part of it. I have lived for a long time, but I have never come across a Reaper with such little emotional control before. It’s almost as though you’re still human—but, of course, you were all too willing to give up that humanity, were you not?”

Rather than react to the sally, Ellie chose to grin. “I thought ‘Sebastian Michaelis,’ the _only part of you_ , has only been around for two or three years. How can you call that a long time?”

“It’s all relative, is it not?” he returned with an unbothered smile. “One can certainly feel the time pass slowly while working with the servants of this manor, I assure you.”

“Try again, Grandpa.”

His eye twitched, and his face fell a bit. “Grandpa…?” He arranged his face into a pleasant expression once again. “Well, no matter. In truth, there is a second reason why I think you would be a better fit for me than your colleague. Shall I tell you?”

“Like I told you, I don’t particularly care,” she said honestly. “Go ahead, if you’re that lonely.”

“Your consideration is much appreciated,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, bowing his head. “Now, then, I suppose you are aware that I recently crossed paths with one of your colleagues? A garish, ill-mannered prat with red hair?”

Ellie snickered. “Everyone’s aware of that, Sebbykins.”

This time, when his smile dropped, he did not replace it. “Quite. It so happens that your predecessor, Mr. Freeman, was in attendance that night. However, at no point did he step in, even when my young master was threatened. I simply do not feel comfortable having such an apathetic Reaper watching over us.”

Ellie considered this. “You do know that David wasn’t actually allowed to interfere, right? Our job is just to make sure you don’t steal any souls off the To-Die List. Anything else would be against our orders and subject to discipline.”

A lazy, lethal smile stretched his face. “Oh, I doubt that would stop you. If necessary, you wouldn’t hesitate to defend my young master.”

She laughed. “And why would I do that? He’s not my problem.”

“But he _is_ your relative, is he not? Or rather, he would have been, had you married Lord Jasper as intended.” He thought for a moment, tapping one gloved finger against his cheek. “Although, I suppose that since Lord Jasper ended up as your brother-in-law instead of your husband, the current Earl Phantomhive is still technically your relative by marriage.” The shadows around him seemed to lengthen as his smile widened. “You wouldn’t abandon your family a second time, would you?”

Ellie ground her teeth. Even through her gloves, her fingernails dug into her palm so hard that she could feel marks beginning to form. Her temper was hanging on by a frayed thread. If she didn’t get it under control soon, and the wrong person happened to be looking her way…

Far off in the distance, a church bell tolled four times. Sebastian pulled a silver pocket watch from his tailcoat and checked it. “Goodness, is it that time already?” He returned the watch to his pocket and bowed to Ellie. “I must begin preparations for the morrow. Do excuse me, and feel free to stay for as long as you like.” He tilted his head upward, so that Ellie could catch a glimpse of his reddened eyes. “And think about my request, won’t you? Perhaps, next time, we can work out an _agreement._ ” Before Ellie could respond or move, he disappeared without a sound.

Left alone, Ellie had free reign to get angry. Snarling, she threw her Death Scythe with all her strength. It spiraled through the air and smacked into one of the graves further down the row, the noise startling a nearby flock of birds. Cursing and condemning the demon under her breath, she stalked after it.

As she was picking it up, though, she caught sight of something that cooled her anger. The grave her Death Scythe had hit was the last in the row, the most recent one. It was a joint stone, dedicated to the Phantomhive twins, the current earl and his brother. Ellie read the names thoughtfully. Why hadn’t the boy taken the stone down? There were no bodies beneath it, and one of the twins (though not the one everyone thought) was still alive. It must have been disturbing for those who came to pay respects to the rest of the family.

 _Maybe the earl does see this as a complete grave. Maybe he’s left it up as a memorial for his old self. The self he threw away when he summoned Sebastian._ She felt a surge of pity, but then quashed it down. There was no point in sympathy. She was not capable of saving him.

With one last, lingering look at the twins’ grave, she took off into the night.


	5. Book of the Reaper

Over the next month, things settled into a normal routine. Every day (or at least every few days), Ellie would receive a memo on her desk or an email from Management outlining the day’s assignments. She would meet whichever Collections officer she was shadowing at the shuttle pick-up, travel with them to the human world, and watch them collect souls. Most of those souls came from somewhere on the Phantomhive estate, but occasionally, the young master would go into town with his butler in tow to carry things. Those days were more difficult for Ellie, as the teeming crowds made it harder to keep track of the two of them.

There never ended up being any problems, though. The vast majority of the souls that died were unrelated to the young earl. Occasionally, as with the band of assassins, Sebastian would be the cause of the deaths, but he never tried to eat the souls, even in jest. He did not speak to Ellie again. In fact, he did not acknowledge her presence at all. Ellie was not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, no interaction meant that she had no opportunity to lose her temper and get in trouble with her superiors, not to mention risk her life. On the other hand, she gained no new information about Victor and remained uncertain about his identity, which meant that she could not act.

After the examination, on days when Sebastian was not present at the death, she would part ways with the Collections officer and travel to the Phantomhive manor for a little light surveillance. This was a good way to gauge Sebastian’s mood and hunger, which would better prepare her for the next day’s assignment—or so she told Cartwright. In reality, she simply wanted to gain as much information as she could about Victor. Cartwright had been suspicious, of course, but he signed off on it anyway. Ellie did have a point, after all.

Nothing of note ever happened during the surveillance. The weather was getting colder, so the inhabitants retreated to the warm fires of the manor house. Ciel was not a social animal, and his infrequent guests consisted solely of his business partners and his (often uninvited) pretty fiancée. Only the teenaged gardener was out every day, singing to himself and occasionally knocking over trees with a ridiculous strength (Sebastian would later reset the trees). On sunny days, a housemaid would hang laundry, and a cook would linger by the back door and smoke. There didn’t appear to be any other servants, even though the manor was so large that four ordinary people couldn’t possibly maintain it themselves. _How does no one suspect something is wrong?_

She kept the closest watch on Ciel himself. By moving from tree to tree, Ellie could peer through the large, clear windows and watch him at his work. He was short and scrawny for his age, perhaps as a result of his sickly constitution and the month in captivity he had spent prior to summoning Sebastian. He wore elegant and well-tailored clothes befitting an earl, but his youth made the outfits seem too large for him all the same. His expression was one of constant, aristocratic disdain, so strong that Ellie couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind the mask. A simple black patch covered his right eye, hiding the Mark of the Covenant. From what Ellie knew of contracts, a Mark on the eye signified incredible power and almost absolute obedience from the demon with whom the human was bonded. Little Ciel must have carried a lot of hatred in his heart to make a contract like that. Ellie wondered how much of his humanity remained beneath all that hatred, and if Martha had felt similarly. The thought made her stomach churn.

On the rare days when she had no assignment pertaining to Sebastian, she would go back to her old designation, helping whichever Collections officer needed her in different parts of Britain. Few demons showed up to those, and the ones that did turned and ran with their tails between their legs after one look from Ellie. After that, she would spend what little free time she had in the Hall of Records, searching through Ciel’s family’s Cinematic Records for anything that she could use to her advantage. She had access to all his relatives’ lives, except for his brother’s—Sebastian had devoured the real Ciel’s soul as a sacrifice for his summoning. No matter how hard she looked, though, she couldn’t find anything she didn’t already know. There was nothing she could use to weaken Sebastian, which meant that there was no way for her to progress.

-

One day in mid-December, during her lunch hour, Ellie sat at her usual table in the Hall of Records, reading Rachel Dalles’s Record for the umpteenth time. She had been a rich, intelligent, beloved woman, so her life was mostly happy. Even she had her share of anxieties, though: worries over her husband’s safety as the Watchdog, worries over her little sister’s happiness in love, worries about her younger son and the poor health she had passed down to him. The pages and strips of film revealed her every thought, but _only_ her thoughts. Not even a mother could truly know what her son was thinking, and thus, the fake Ciel’s mindset was a mystery to Ellie as well. If only she had his Record, or that of the real Ciel! Of course, if she did, then that meant Sebastian would have never existed and that she would have no need of them in the first place.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice she had company until someone sat down across from her. “That any good?” a woman’s voice asked.

Startled, Ellie looked up to see Charlotte Murray smiling at her. Charlotte was a former Security officer who had transferred to the short-staffed Collections department after Grell’s fall from grace. The two of them hadn’t seen each other much since the transfer, but they had been friendly as immediate colleagues.

“I guess so,” Ellie said, smiling back. “It’s about the same as the others. This woman lived a fairly ordinary life.”

Charlotte nodded, understanding. “Is it for work?”

“Mm-hmm. I thought it might help with this case I’m working on, but I’m only spinning my wheels.” She sighed. “To be honest, I’m having kind of a hard time of it right now.”

“Sorry to hear that.” She really did sound sorry. “I’ve got good news for you, though. You’ll be able to take a break from this for a while.”

Ellie blinked. “A break?”

“Yeah.” Charlotte pulled a folded-up memo from her jacket pocket and passed it to her. “New assignment, as of twenty minutes ago. The captain signed off on it personally.”

Ellie unfolded the memo and read it. The new orders were scribbled hastily, written by hand instead of typed. She could barely read them. The case must have been a serious one that needed to progress too quickly for Management’s bureaucracy. Cartwright’s loopy signature took up half the page.

Frowning deeper, she handed back the memo. “Did the captain tell you about my current assignment? I don’t mean to belittle you, Charlotte, but it’s really important that I stay on it. No one else in the department can cover it for me.” David Freeman had left the hospital a week ago, but he hadn’t returned to work yet. Word of his ordeal had spread far enough, though, that other Security officers and even a few Collections officers refused to work in the Phantomhive sector for fear of Sebastian.

Charlotte nodded. “I know. The captain gave me a crash course. The only reason I’m asking you is because your mad dog might be involved.” She leaned closer to Ellie over the table, her face darkening in a scowl. “Be honest with me. Have you ever slipped up a little bit in your surveillance? Maybe turned your back on Sebbykins once or twice while a soul was being collected?”

Ellie’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “No, of course not! What do you take me for? I wouldn’t trust that animal with the Pope without me watching him!”

“All right, all right, take it easy.” She put up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I figured as much. Your man’s always been pretty well-behaved.” She sighed and gazed up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “If that’s right, then we really do have a rogue on our hands…damn, this’ll be on my performance review…”

“A rogue? A rogue demon?”

Charlotte sighed again and looked straight at Ellie. “That’s right. Souls are disappearing off the To-Die List, and the one who’s taking them isn’t showing up on Tracking’s radar. No one can find the bastard.”

-

On the shuttle to the human world, Charlotte filled Ellie in. Four Sundays ago, she went on assignment to an East End alleyway, where she was supposed to collect the soul of a ten-year-old girl dying of pneumonia. When she arrived, though, the girl was nowhere to be found. After searching for an hour, Charlotte found the girl’s body two miles west of her designated place of death. Or rather, Charlotte found what remained of the body, which wasn’t much. Instead of slipping away peacefully in her sleep, the girl had been savaged like a dog’s chew toy, to the point that she was barely recognizable. Her soul was gone. In addition, the Forensics department examined the remains and discovered that she had died a full forty minutes before she was meant to. The discrepancies in the To-Die List and the loss of the soul pointed to demonic activity.

Mortified, Charlotte filed the necessary paperwork and went straight to the Tracking division, the subset of the Security department that located and predicted the movements of demons in the area. Every one of its staffers went over their reports thrice, but they found no careless errors. There was simply no evidence of a demon in that sector. They started working with the Forensics department to comb the scene of the girl’s death, but while the claw marks on the corpse pointed to a demon, they could find no other trace of where the demon could have gone.

Before they could find any answers, the invisible demon struck again. The next Sunday, Charlotte went out to collect the soul of an eight-year-old boy, whom a runaway carriage would kill. She found his mangled body under a bridge in Cheapside, far from the road. His wounds were worse than the girl’s, the claw and teeth marks clearly visible. Once again, there was no soul left behind. Once again, Tracking and Forensics searched every inch of the scene for signs of the demon. And once again, they found nothing. The scene repeated itself twice more before Charlotte called for reinforcements. 

Ellie bit her lip, mulling this over. “So, it takes the souls of children on Sundays.”

“That’s right, and if the pattern holds, it’ll feed again today. The corpses are getting uglier; the last boy was decapitated.”

Despite the thousands of dead bodies she had seen over the years, Ellie couldn’t help but shudder at the brutality. “And no one’s found anything yet? No one has any idea what’s happening?”

“No physical evidence. The Sunday thing is the best we have, and it’s only conjecture at best.”

Ellie shook her head. “But it makes no sense. Demons lose power on religious holidays. Human faith makes them weaker. Why would this one be able to hunt on the Sabbath?”

“Maybe that’s why it’s going after children. They’re too small and weak to resist.”

She felt a surge of revulsion and swallowed thickly. “So, what does this have to do with my case? Sebastian definitely isn’t hunting, and Tracking’s already marked him. He wouldn’t be able to throw them off that easily.”

Charlotte hesitated. “Sebastian’s not the one involved here. It’s his master. The humans noticed what’s going on, and now little what’s-his-name Phantomhive is investigating the ‘murders.’”

“Which puts him right in the path of a feral demon.” Ellie felt her insides seize up. The thought of some mad monster tearing that boy to pieces the way Victor did to Martha made her want to vomit.

Unaware of this, Charlotte grinned. “Exactly. His own lapdog will be too busy defending his own dinner to bother with you. It’ll be a perfect opportunity to gut him, right?” She looked proud of herself for coming up with a solution to Ellie’s case for her.

Ellie grimaced. “Right. Perfect.”

-

The Gates brought them to West London, near Smithfield. It was sunny for once, and despite the winter chill, the markets were thronged with people and carriages. No one saw the two Reapers as they picked their way through the crowd, though the horses flattened their ears and a few elderly and sickly folks shivered as they passed them by.

“The soul I’m collecting today is a nine-year-old called Annie Blount,” Charlotte said, looking at Ellie over her shoulder as she walked. “The To-Die List has her scheduled for three o’clock. Cause of death is supposed to be drowning—she’s going to fall into the Thames.”

Ellie checked her watch. It was 1:37. “Not that we can trust the To-Die List with a demon on the loose. Are we staking out the collection point?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll be good enough. The last two children were nowhere near the collection points when they died. I think the best thing to do would be to track down Annie Blount and tail her until she comes across the demon.”

“Makes sense to me. Where do we start?”

“I’ve got her address right here.” She held up the little black notebook where she kept her copy of the To-Die List. “There’s a guy in Research who has a crush on me. I got him to track down Annie’s preliminary Record info, so I know where she lives and the places she likes to play at.”

“Impressive. Her house is close by, I take it?”

“Close enough, but that’s not where we’re going. I want you to confirm something first.” Frowning, she jogged a little ways ahead and rounded a corner. “I’m sure it’s around—ah, there it is!”

Ellie followed her around the corner, and then stopped short as her gaze landed on Charlotte’s destination. Across the street, crammed in between two shops like an embarrassing afterthought, was a mortuary. The building was old but sturdy, with all its faded brown bricks in place and free of crumbling mortar. The simple, unadorned door was flanked by a tall black coffin and a couple blank sample headstones. The large sign above the door read “Undertaker” in bold letters. A morbid wooden carving of a skull and crossbones crowned the sign.

The shop looked exactly as it did forty years ago.

-

_The distant chimes of a church bell noted that Claudia had been gone for almost thirty minutes now. She had wanted to speak to the proprietor alone first, perhaps so that she could speak freely without a sad little castaway listening in. Ellie sat in the Phantomhive carriage, worrying her damp handkerchief between her fingers. Whenever she shifted in her seat, a jolt of pain would shoot up her abdomen, making her wince and clench her teeth. So much for Victor’s promise to be gentle—no, she wouldn’t think about that, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t._

_She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief for the thousandth time, catching yet more tears._ Victor, where are you? _she screamed inside her head._ You said that you loved me, so why did you run away?

_A tap on the carriage window surprised her. She hastily rubbed her eyes and looked up to see Claudia smiling gently at her. If she had seen the tears, it didn’t show on her face._

_She opened the door, took Ellie’s hand, and helped her dismount to the street. “It’s all settled. My friend here will be more than happy to give you a bed for a few days. It shouldn’t take any longer than that for this to blow over with Jasper.”_

_She started to say something else, but clamped her mouth shut. Ellie knew exactly what she was thinking: whatever Jasper thought, it would take far longer than a few days for her father to forgive her. Perhaps he would never forgive her. Ellie couldn’t blame him. She had shamed the family by sullying herself under his very roof. Disowning her was only natural. She wondered if he had set the dogs on Victor as he had threatened._

_But those were dangerous thoughts. Her eyeballs were already growing hot again. To distract herself, she looked over the shop again, drinking in the coffin, the gravestones, and the relief of the skull and crossbones. The ghoulish paraphernalia, which could have been taken straight from her favorite horror novels, would have excited her. Now, though, they just made her feel cold and empty._

_“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she said in a low voice. “I realize that I don’t have anywhere else to go, but…”_

_Claudia spoke at her normal volume as they approached the door. “Absolutely. The Undertaker and his family have been allies of the Phantomhives for generations. He’s loyal to the Watchdog, in his own way.”_

_“What happens if Jasper comes looking for me? Wouldn’t this Undertaker person give me up because of that loyalty?”_

_Claudia laughed and shook her head. “Not in a thousand years. Our_ families _have that sort of relationship, but his_ personal _loyalty is to me. I am the one asking him to hide you here, so he will never give you up, not even if Jasper set all of Scotland Yard on him.”_

_That confidant proclamation made Ellie feel not so much reassured as confused. “Personal loyalty,” was it? Claudia had hinted, despite her station, that she had taken a secret lover. Was it possible that this lowly mortician had caught her eye? She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, Claudia grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her through the back door._

_The inside of the shop was cool and dark. A few candles glowed on the counter. Coffins lay haphazardly all over the floor, with a few propped up against the walls for want of space. Naturally, there were no bodies in this front part of the shop, but a faint whiff of corruption lingered all the same. The smell reminded Ellie of Martha’s sickroom. She shivered, the sandwich Claudia had given her in the carriage sitting heavily in her stomach._

_Claudia frowned at the empty space behind the counter. “That’s odd. He was here a moment ago.” She raised her voice, her tone becoming somewhat imperial. “Undertaker! Are you still here?”_

_Just then, Ellie heard a shrill, slow creak near her right ear. She turned her head and saw another coffin leaning upright against the wall, very close to where she was standing. The creak came from the lid gradually opening. Something green and bright shone out of the widening gap._

_Sustained on a steady diet of penny dreadfuls and monster stories, Ellie felt no urge to scream. Her shoulders merely hunched and tensed as the lid opened fully and the coffin’s inhabitant stepped out. It was not a corpse, thankfully; it was a tall man dressed in the dark robes and gray sash of a professional mourner. His skin, though, was pasty enough to look natural on a corpse. It was impossible to guess his age, but his waist-length, greasy hair was a uniform pale gray. His overgrown nails were painted black. Thick, tangled bangs obscured his eyes. A ropy scar snaked up his face, starting from his right cheek and curving over the bridge of his nose up beneath his bangs._

_The man giggled—a high-pitched, grating sound—and moved so close to Ellie that their noses were nearly touching. “Well, well. You don’t scare easily, do you, dearie?” His breath, not unpleasant, smelled of nutmeg._

_His appearance and proximity unnerved her, but Ellie was a daughter of the English peerage, and well-bred manners did not desert her even now. Bobbing in a curtsy, she forced herself to smile, though she thought the effort might split her face in two. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is—”_

_“Oh, I know who_ you _are. You’re my new flatmate! I must say, you’re definitely livelier than the other blokes around here.” He cackled at his own jest._

_Ellie’s smile remained fixed. “Quite. Thank you very much for your hospitality. Er, has Claudia told you about my—my circumstances, Mister…?”_

_“Just call me Undertaker. Everyone does.” He tottered over to the counter, then returned bearing an urn overflowing with bone-shaped biscuits. Claudia took one when offered; Ellie refused. “And has she ever talked about you! Every time she comes by, she’s got new stories about you to tell. I’d be jealous if I actually deserved her.” He giggled again._

_Ellie blinked. “I see. Please excuse me for just a moment.” She took Claudia’s arm and drew her as far away from the Undertaker as possible (though, of course, that was hardly more than a few feet). “That man is your lover?” she whispered as quietly as she could._

_Only the slightest tinge of pink colored her cheeks. She had never been a bashful girl. “That’s right.”_

_“_ That _man is your lover.”_

_“Yes.”_

_Ellie lowered her voice further. “Claudia, I realize that I, of all people, have no right to be saying this, but why in Heaven’s name are you risking your good name for_ him _?”_

_Claudia frowned, but then her eyes widened and she laughed. “Oh, of course!” She turned back to the Undertaker and smiled sweetly. “Dear, could you please show Ellie here your face?” Obligingly, the Undertaker grinned and pulled his bangs away from his eyes, like he was drawing curtains apart on a stage._

_Ellie took a long look at his face and eyes, then turned back to Claudia with a blank look on her face. “Congratulations.”_

_“Thank you,” Claudia replied, grinning._

-

A hand shook her shoulder, breaking her out of her reverie. Charlotte was speaking to her. “Ellie? Hello? Did you fall asleep?”

Ellie shook her head to clear it. One image remained burned into her brain: the two phosphorescent yellow-green eyes twinkling out of the Undertaker’s face. The same eyes behind Charlotte’s glasses, and the eyes she herself saw every morning in her washroom mirror. “He’s a Reaper,” she said mostly to herself. “That man is one of us.”

Charlotte jumped a little. “What—? How did you know? Have you met him before?”

“When I was still alive. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I saw his eyes. No human has eyes like that.” She frowned at Charlotte, brow furrowed. “What’s he doing there? Even if the Dispatch put him undercover at one point, there’s no way they’d keep him there for forty years, right?”

She hesitated, then spoke in a whisper, as though frightened of being overheard. “He’s a deserter. I don’t know why he left or what exactly he’s doing now, but he hasn’t worked for the Dispatch for almost a century. I stumbled upon him during a routine surveillance check about twenty years ago.” She shifted uncomfortably, withering under Ellie’s stare. “We’ve got sort of a deal going on. I don’t report him to Management and bring him books from the Hall of Records—which I don’t know why he wants, by the way—and he gives me information in exchange. Things like an individual death’s effect on those around it, or whether there are demons roaming about. It helps me anticipate when the To-Die List changes suddenly.”

Ellie nodded. She couldn’t condemn Charlotte for keeping secrets. Security needed every advantage it could get over the demons, and at any rate, she herself was planning to go behind Management’s back with regards to Victor. “So, you think that the Undertaker has some relevant information for us now?”

“That’s right. The body of the demon’s most recent victim hasn’t been claimed or buried yet. Undertaker’s holding it in his shop. I’m sure he’s sewed it up and whatnot already, but you might still be able to find some clues about the way the victim died.” She shot her a sidelong, knowing look. “Maybe you’ll see something familiar.”

Ellie nodded, understanding. It was not enough that a Forensics officer, someone who dealt with demons very rarely (and then only after the fact), had declared the victim’s cause of death to be demonic. There were as many ways for a demon to kill a human as there were for a human to kill a human; the only commonality was the eaten soul. Some demons liked to claw their victim open like savage beasts, while others preferred to snap their necks, and so on. One could examine the victim’s wound pattern and potentially match it up to an existing record, thereby identifying the demon. And if the wound pattern of this child matched Martha’s…

“This is all very thoughtful of you,” Ellie said with a smile. “I appreciate you looping me in on this.”

“Not at all. Shall we?” The two of them crossed the street (causing a few carriage horses to shy and a stray dark to whine), opened the mortuary’s door without knocking, and slipped inside.

The shop’s interior, like its exterior, hadn’t changed at all since Ellie was last there. Same low light, same coffins scattered in the same positions, same urn of biscuits on the counter. The only difference was that the Undertaker, instead of hiding in a coffin to scare his customers, was behind the counter, elbows on the surface and chin in his hands. He, too, looked no different than he had the first time Ellie saw him.

He straightened up as they entered. “Welcome! Goodness, but I’m popular today. First the little lord, and now the hard worker.”

“Afternoon, Undertaker,” Charlotte said, approaching the counter and smiling. “Are you busy right now? There’s something we could use your help with.”

Ellie said nothing; she was preoccupied with the Undertaker’s words. “Little lord” must have been Earl Phantomhive. Charlotte was right, then. The case was so serious that even Queen Victoria had taken notice and dispatched her dog to deal with it. And _his_ dog, too. She must have only just missed the two of them, since Undertaker hadn’t had the time to crawl back into his coffin. How close were they now? Anywhere near Annie Blount’s house, perhaps?

“I had one amusing visitor just a little while ago,” Undertaker was saying, “but nothing before that. It’s only early December, after all. The real cold will set in later, and then business will pick up. Until then, this place will be silent as the grave.” He cackled.

“Well, I’ve got something interesting for you to pass the time with.” She shrugged out of her knapsack, opened it, and pulled out two thick tomes. By their covers, Ellie guessed that they were completed Cinematic Records. The Hall of Records did technically allow any Reaper to check out a book, but they preferred that the books did not leave the premises. Ellie had no idea how they would react to someone checking out a book and then giving it to a deserter for no discernable reason. At the very least, Management would put Charlotte on unpaid leave.

Undertaker took the books and stowed them behind the counter, a greedy smile on his face. “Cheers. I’m not quite done with the last batch you gave me, so I’ll just give them all back at once, shall I?”

Charlotte winced. “Urgh…fine. But I’m not giving you any new ones until you do, all right? The Record Keepers are already riding my arse about checkout limits.”

“Oh, is that so? How unfortunate.” There was a trace of mirth in Undertaker’s voice, but no sympathy. “So, what can I do for you, Miss Hard Worker? Want to visit with one of my customers?”

“Exactly. Only, I’m not the one paying the visit.” She clapped a hand on Ellie’s shoulder, making her jump a little. “This is Ellie Howard, my partner on this case. She, er, tells me that you two have met?”

Keeping her face carefully blank, Ellie adjusted her hat so that Undertaker could get a clearer view of her face. “It’s been a while. Thank you again for taking me in that time.”

For the first time, Undertaker looked directly at her. A wide grin lazily spread across his face, and a note of seriousness entered his voice. “Of course. You look much better than the last time I saw you. Those glasses suit your face rather well, don’t you think?”

It occurred to Ellie that the last time he had seen her might have been when he was preparing her body for burial. She chewed her lip, disturbed. “Charlotte tells me that one of the corpses you have on the premises is a decapitated child. I’d like to take a look at him, if that’s all right with you.”

“Ah, the demon’s latest victim, is it? I’m surprised you haven’t caught it yet.” He giggled at the indignant looks on their faces. “Well, I don’t particularly mind setting up an introduction between you and the little unfortunate, but there is the small matter of payment to take care of first.”

“What do you mean, payment?” Charlotte asked. “You have your books.”

“From _you_ , yes. Now I need something from her.” He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, waiting.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ellie’s the one who needs to see the body. Technically, I paid you for nothing, so why can’t—?”

“It’s all right, Charlotte,” Ellie interrupted quietly. “I can pay.” She had lived under Undertaker’s roof for three days and had seen any number of customers appeal to him. She knew what he wanted. “Hey, Undertaker. Do you know what the tallest building in town is?”

He perked up. “No, what _is_ the tallest building in town?”

“The library. Because it has the most stories.”

This was met with complete silence. The Undertaker’s ever-present smile faded to nothing. Charlotte, though, smiled behind her hand.

“The most _stories_. Because it—”

“We get it, thank you,” Charlotte interrupted.

Ellie scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. “Grell thought it was funny.”

“Considering Grell’s sense of humor, is that really something to brag about?”

“Fine. I’ll think of something else.”

“Please don’t.”

Undertaker raised a hand to cut off Ellie’s retort. “That will do, thank you. For poor Claudia’s sake, I’ll give you a discount this time.”

Sobered at the mention of her friend, Ellie fell silent and nodded in thanks. Charlotte excused herself, citing her need to track down her assigned soul before the demon got to it first. She left without another word, wielding her three-pronged Death Scythe and a grim expression.

Once she had gone, Undertaker ushered Ellie to the back room behind the counter. It was larger and brighter than the front room, with more candles and fewer coffins strewn about. There was a great slab of a table in the center of the room, darkened with dubious stains. Shelves of chemicals lined three of the walls. A roof-high container concealed the fourth, with a number of rectangular drawers built into it. Undertaker crossed the room and opened one of the lower drawers, revealing a frosty body. A blast of cold air chilled the room.

Undertaker grinned at Ellie. “Reaper technology really is a marvel, isn’t it? Thought I’d incorporate a bit of it down here.” Ellie gave him a thin-lipped smile but did not respond. Her eyes were locked on the small body.

Chuckling to himself, Undertaker slipped his arms beneath the body and lifted it out of its slot effortlessly. He then went over to the table and gently lowered the body onto the slab. “All yours,” he said to Ellie, and then retreated to stand in front of the door, giving her the tiniest bit of privacy. Ellie thanked him and took his place by the table, face set.

This latest victim, Charlotte had told her on the shuttle, was named Edward Pole. He was an eleven-year-old orphan from Bethnal Green, originally meant to die of starvation. The demon had stolen his soul last Sunday with a violence heretofore unseen. Undertaker had stitched up the gashes and powdered the bruises during his work, but Ellie’s practiced eye easily caught the traces of violence. The demon’s claws had cut to the bone, and its strength had half-pulled an arm from its socket. Pole’s head had been ripped off and sewn back on, the stitches straining. The cut was not clean; it looked as though the demon had grabbed Pole by the head and feet and pulled him apart. The worst damage, though, was to his chest. The demon had gutted him like a pumpkin from breastbone to pelvis. His insides must have been nothing but shreds.

Ellie sighed, shoulders slumping a little. This wasn’t Victor’s work. While it was true that Victor’s savagery toward Martha had been equally extreme, there had been a reason for it: he was trying to secure a second helping by driving Ellie to despair. Each of his attacks had been meticulous and necessary. In Pole’s case, it looked like the demon had struck him randomly in a fevered attempt to get to his soul. This was the work of a feral beast, not just someone playing with his food. No matter how hungry he might be, Ellie just couldn’t picture Victor acting like this. Or Sebastian, for that matter.

“No good?” Undertaker piped up from the back.

Ellie turned to face him and shook her head. “Nothing Forensics hasn’t already reported. I was hoping the demon who did this was one I know about already, but the wound pattern doesn’t match.”

Undertaker’s mile broadened. “Still looking for your little boyfriend, are you?”

“I—yes, I am.”

Undertaker knew all about Victor, she remembered. Not only had Claudia told him about Ellie and Victor’s affair, but he himself had divined Victor’s true nature from everything he had heard. On the last day of Ellie’s life, Claudia had sent them a letter informing them that Jasper was going to elope with Martha. Reading this, Undertaker reasoned that Martha was the only one to benefit from Ellie and Jasper’s broken betrothal. Victor’s arrival at the Howard manor had been too well-timed, his behavior too perfect. He had said all the right things and been in all the right places, his only apparent purpose to make Ellie happy and loved. Undertaker saw this for what it was: a calculated attack on her lonely and isolated heart. He had told her as much, and Ellie, whose favorite novel was Faust, believed him. After all, she had caught a glimpse of Victor’s eyes. It didn’t occur to her to wonder how Undertaker knew so much about demons until it was too late.

Undertaker’s smile fell, leaving a somber expression behind. “Claudia never stopped looking for him, you know. She was determined to kill him herself. Obsessed, really. I wanted to tell her the truth, but she wouldn’t believe me. She was never the same after you died.”

Ellie clenched her fists and shut her eyes against the tears beginning to pool. “I’m so sorry for your loss. For everything.”

They were silent a moment, reflecting. When Undertaker spoke again, some of the laughter had returned to his face. “Do you remember what I told you the night you left?”

“I do.” She had been racing out the door with the pistol Claudia had given her in hand, determined to get to Martha before Victor did, when Undertaker had stopped her with a warning. “You told me that I had only one soul, and that once I had put it on a path, I could never change my mind about it, so be careful.”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

She hung her head. “I guess I didn’t really take your advice that night.” Her hand twitched, still feeling the weight of the gun and its cold trigger.

Undertaker looked down at her, and she caught a glimpse of his telltale eyes. “Make sure you do today.”


	6. In Accordance

By the time Ellie left the mortuary, there was only half an hour to go before Annie Blount’s scheduled death. The streets were still packed with people. A few looked morose, but none of them looked especially terrified, nor did anyone have the revealing red eyes. Ellie guessed that, wherever the demon was, it wasn’t nearby. Charlotte, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Ellie lingered outside the shop, mentally reviewing her orders. She had confirmed that Victor was not the demon who was stealing children’s souls, but Cartwright and Charlotte had tasked her with figuring out if Sebastian may have been involved. Personally, Ellie doubted it. From what she had seen and what David had reported, Sebastian was not the type to go hunting for random souls while he was already under contract. Besides, Ellie was positive she would have noticed Sebastian sneaking out for a midnight snack on her watch. Orders were orders, though. Once she proved that Sebastian had nothing to do with this rogue demon, she could get back to her important work.

She took one last look up and down the street. Still no sign of Charlotte. Earlier, she had said that Annie Blount’s house was close by, so she couldn’t have gone too far. Ellie scanned the horizon and spotted a bell tower looming above the surroundings. She leapt up once and landed lightly on top of the spire. Below, the Londoners in dark coats looked like ants. She searched for Charlotte’s navy blazer and pink blouse but only saw grays and blacks.

“Charlotte!” Ellie called out, raising her voice only slightly. None of the humans below could hear her, of course, but she didn’t want to alert the demon to her presence if she could help it. “Charlotte, can you hear me? Where are you?”

The wind shifted, and a faint voice wafted into earshot. “ _Ellie! Help! The demon—_ ” The rest was lost in a strangled yell.

A flash of pink in a side alley caught Ellie’s eye. “Hang on, I’m on my way!” She gripped her Death Scythe in both hands and jumped off the church tower to the roof of a bakery, then a flagpole on a civic building. It took three more roofs and the top of a hansom cab to reach the mouth of the alley. With her Death Scythe raised to swing, Ellie dismounted the carriage and raced to the mouth of the alley, leaving the screaming carriage-horses behind her. The journey had taken mere seconds.

Charlotte was gone. The demon wasn’t there. There was only a huddled mass at the end of the alley, too small to be Charlotte. A dark puddle spread out beneath it. The rank smells of blood and intestines poisoned the air.

“God _damn_ it!” Ellie snapped, already racing down the alley. She skidded to a halt and knelt beside the mass, heedless of the blood staining her trousers. “God damn it,” she said again, more quietly.

It was the dismembered body of a young child. Her hair, soaked scarlet and tied with ribbons, was the only thing to indicate her gender. Her face had been clawed to nothing, her eyes plucked and squashed. Her mouth was open in a soundless scream of terror, the lips peeled away. One single strip of skin was the only thing attaching her right leg to the rest of her, while the other leg had been thrown about a foot away. Her arms were nowhere to be found. The torso had been torn nearly in half, with her entrails spilling out into the dirt. The bone-deep furrows in her chest matched those of Edward Pole. The same demon must have done this, which meant the body must have been that of Annie Blount. They were too late.

Ellie glanced around the alley and saw no trace of the culprit, or of Charlotte. She guessed that the latter had caught the former red-handed, then chased it down in an attempt to recover Annie’s soul. The prospect of Charlotte facing the demon alone turned Ellie’s stomach. Charlotte had been a reliable and skilled Security officer once, but she was a Collections officer now and out of practice. Besides, it was possible that she was already injured, judging by that scream earlier. She wouldn’t stand a chance by herself.

Ellie started to stand up, but paused and looked at the mangled corpse again. She ought to check whether the soul really was already gone. Maybe Charlotte had stumbled upon the demon and chased it off before it could start eating. It wasn’t a very likely scenario—nothing was more important to a Collections officer than examining and retrieving a soul—but William T. Spears and the other gung-ho supervisors would appreciate the check.

Moving quickly so as not to waste time, Ellie shifted position to give herself more room and sliced open Annie’s remaining leg. Fresh blood oozed out of the wound, but no Cinematic Record. There weren’t even any stray blank or corrupted strips. The demon had gobbled up her entire soul, leaving not so much as a crumb behind.

“Right, then,” she mumbled, standing up. “Where’d you run off to, you vile fuck?” She eyed the walls of the alley, looking for bloodstains that marked the demon’s trail.

“Sebastian, stop her!”

Startled, Ellie spun around, her Death Scythe half raised. It was already too late; something large and strong slammed her against the wall, stunning her. Her Death Scythe fell to the dirt with a thud. A small but sharp blade pointed between her eyes. A cloth vise closed around her throat. Red eyes met hers, smoldering with delight. On her hand, the Mark of the Covenant seared with pain so intense that, had she had full use of her throat, she would have screamed.

“I suggest that you not struggle,” Sebastian—of course it was Sebastian—said in a low, cheery voice. “It would not end well.” For emphasis, he pressed the cold point of the bread knife against her skin. A drop of blood dribbled down the bridge of her nose.

Ellie glanced over his shoulder and saw Ciel Phantomhive standing at the mouth of the alley, panting as hard as if he had just run a marathon. He wore a fine top hat and cloak that, while befitting his station, seemed somehow inappropriate on a child his age and height. Even less fitting was the look of cold fury in his uncovered eye. This was the gaze of someone who not only could commit murder, but had already. Ellie felt the slightest pang of unease, but it did not morph into full-blown alarm. He was only a child, after all, and an asthmatic at that. His only threat to her was his voice, which his demon obeyed without question. Even that wasn’t a true problem at the moment. If the two of them wanted her dead, they would have killed her already.

So, despite her situation, it was with some degree of dignity and confidence that she addressed the little lord. “What,” she croaked, “is your problem? Have I offended you by minding my own business?” Sebastian tightened his grip on her throat in warning, making her cough. She did not need to breathe as humans did, but the situation was still uncomfortable and demeaning.

Ciel scoffed. “I daresay you offended her.” He pointed his walking stick at Annie Blount’s corpse. “Is that what you call minding your own business? I suppose I cannot expect much from your sort.” His expression hardened.

It occurred to Ellie that Ciel had been present during the business with Grell. Not only was he aware of the existence of Reapers, he must have also considered them all to be just like the one that had murdered his beloved aunt. She shook her head as much as she could with her neck restrained. “Wait a moment! I’m not the one that killed her!”

This time, he pointed his stick at her fallen Death Scythe. “Your weapon is bloody. I saw you cut her with it.”

“To check for her Cinematic Record!”

He raised his voice, which took on a harsh edge. “Do you take me for a fool? I’m well aware of your kind, and that your weapons are capable of cutting through anything with ease. No ordinary blade could have mutilated the body so.” His face, Ellie noticed, was a shade paler than normal, and he did not look directly at the body. It seemed that even he had sensitivities.

She gestured to her Death Scythe, wishing that she could grab ahold of it and lop Sebastian’s hand off her throat. “Look, _my_ blade isn’t fashioned to cause that sort of damage. See for yourself.”

Ciel’s eye narrowed in suspicion as it darted from Ellie to her Scythe to his butler. “Sebastian, hold her steady,” he commanded after a pause.

“Yes, my lord.” His grip tightened further, and Ellie coughed and wheezed.

Thus assured of his safety, Ciel strode over to the Death Scythe, stepping carefully to avoid the pool of Annie’s blood. The weapon was too heavy for him to lift with one hand, so he pressed his stick into Sebastian’s free hand before hoisting it up and examining it. Ellie noted with some satisfaction that his skinny arms shook as he held it.

“This looks completely different from Grell Sutcliff’s,” he said. “One could easily mistake it for an ordinary axe.”

At this point, Ellie was only capable of giving the tiniest nod. She felt another warms trickle of blood as Sebastian’s knife pricked her skin again.

Reluctantly, Ciel turned to the body and compared its wounds to the Scythe’s simple blade. He was obviously squeamish, but even a cursory glance at the corpse made it plain that one axe couldn’t have made all those different and drastic wounds in so short a time. At last, he nodded and tossed the Scythe aside. “Let her go, Sebastian.”

Obediently, Sebastian’s fingers loosened. Ellie yanked herself away and staggered out of reach, massaging her bruised neck. She scooped up her Death Scythe with her free hand as she passed by. Its familiar weight was an instant relief. The pain of her brand faded to a dull throb.

Ciel gave her a few moments to collect herself before continuing. “You’re here to take that girl’s soul, aren’t you? You must know who killed her.”

Ellie hesitated, then decided there was no harm in telling him. He already knew about Reapers, and Sebastian undoubtedly recognized the handiwork of his own kind, even if he wouldn’t say so to his master. “I don’t. And I’m not here for her soul. I’m here to catch whoever did this to her. Which—” She stepped forward and swung her Death Scythe around, so that now, it was Sebastian’s turn to feel a weapon at his throat. “—is probably you, by the way.”

Ciel’s eye widened. “Don’t be ridiculous! I never told him—I mean, he would never do that.” His cheeks took on a pink tinge.

“Relax, Milord,” Ellie said, not taking her eyes off Sebastian. “You can’t tell me anything about your little _situation_ I don’t already know. It’s my job to know a demon when I see one.” She pointed at the body with her other hand. “That girl’s soul is gone. She’s been ripped apart like paper. Who else but a demon could do that?” Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re the only demon we have on record for this area.”

Sebastian met her gaze evenly, then sighed and shook his head. “Do you truly think so little of me? After all our time together?”

Ellie dug the edge of her Scythe gently into his throat. It left a red mark but did not cut the skin, which irritated her a little. “That’s exactly why I suspect you,” she lied, which irritated her even more.

Ciel looked back and forth between them, utterly bewildered. “What on earth is going on here? Sebastian, do you know this woman?”

“Indeed I do. Young Master, allow me to present Miss Eleanor Howard, a distinguished member of the demon-hunting class of Reapers. She has been our guest for quite some time.”

“Demon-hunting?” There was a tiny hint of uncertainty in his voice. Then the rest of the words sank in, and his look became indignant. “Wait, our _guest_? What are you on about? Have you been in my mansion?”

Ellie scowled at Sebastian, who smiled smugly in response. Management was not going to like this one, but the demon had left her no choice. “Just the outside,” she admitted grudgingly. “Whenever someone dies near you, my superiors have me monitor your pet hellion here, in case he tries swiping a soul.”

He turned pale and livid. “You’ve been _spying_ on me?”

“No, I was spying on _him_. I can’t help it if you happened to be in the same place at the time.”

Two crimson spots blossomed in his cheeks. “Why, you—”

What exactly she was, however, Ellie did not find out. There was a strong gust of wind, followed by a muffled thump as Charlotte landed hard in the dirt. There were jagged gashes that looked like claw marks in her left thigh. The tines of her Death Scythe were dripping red.

“Lost the bastard!” she snapped, slamming her fist against the wall in frustration. “Chased him all the way to South Bank, but he took a chunk out of my leg and dropped me out of the sky. I only just manage to return the favor.” She paused and looked from Ellie to Sebastian to Ciel. Her brow furrowed. “Er, what did I miss?”

The appearance of yet another supernatural being was enough to quell Ciel’s rage for the moment. Or rather, he redirected it onto the newcomer. “And who the devil are you supposed to be?”

She pointed to herself. “Me? I’m Charlotte Murray, of the Grim Reaper Dispatch’s Collections department. I, er, take it that you’ve met Ellie.” Her frown deepened as she limped over to Ciel and peered into his face, so close that the boy took an uneasy step back. “Aren’t you the nephew of that woman Grell killed? The nobleman who sold his soul to a demon. What was your name—?”

“Ciel Phantomhive,” Ellie said in a loud voice before anyone could respond. “Eldest son of the murdered Earl Vincent and Countess Rachel Phantomhive.” She, of course, knew this to be a lie the boy was telling to cope with the real Ciel’s death, but she thought it best not to show her full hand just yet. That information might be advantageous down the line, particularly since his latent guilt and inferiority complexes had played a pivotal role in Sebastian’s summoning.

To her relief, Charlotte took the hint. “Right, that’s it. Awfully distinctive name, isn’t it? Not that that’s a bad thing.”

Ciel grimaced, all but grinding his teeth. “You people seem to know quite a bit about me.”

“Of course we do. We have access to the Cinematic Records of almost everyone who died near you. If we wanted, we could piece together your whole life story from just brief scenes in individual Records.”

Ellie cleared her throat loudly, not liking the direction the conversation was turning. “Charlotte, you’re absolutely positive that the demon you chased is the one that killed this girl?”

She nodded. “That’s right. I caught it in the act. I…I was too late for her soul.” Her face caved in a little.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Are you sure that the demon was corporeal? It wasn’t an illusion to throw you off the real one’s trail?”

Charlotte gestured first to her bloodied Death Scythe, then to her wounded leg. “Illusions don’t bleed. And I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have been able to break my skin if it wasn’t corporeal.”

Ellie looked thoughtfully at Sebastian. Judging by the way he carried himself and how strong and quick he had been when he attacked her, he wasn’t wounded anywhere. He did look slightly paler than usual, but that could just have been because it was Sunday, the holy Sabbath day. Besides, less than two minutes had passed between Charlotte’s pursuit of the culprit and Sebastian and Ciel’s arrival. Ellie did not know the full extent of a demon’s powers, but she doubted that they could physically be in two places at once, especially if they were bound to a single form by a contract. But still, this feeling she had, like she was missing something important…

As though he could read her thoughts, Sebastian smiled and said, “It is quite impossible for me to have been both here speaking with you and in South Bank with Miss Murray at the same time. Furthermore, as you can see, I am not suffering from a wound at present.”

Ellie hesitated. The arm brandishing her Death Scythe did not drop. _Something is wrong here…_

“This is ridiculous,” Ciel snapped. “Sebastian, this is an order: tell me truthfully if you killed this girl.”

His smile widened. “I did not.”

“Do you know the identity of the person who killed her?”

“I do not.”

Ciel paused a moment before continuing. “Did a demon kill her?”

Ellie could almost see the impression of his fangs beneath his curving lips. “I believe so.”

It was Ciel’s turn to scowl at him now. “You bastard! Why didn’t you say so—?”

The rest of his words were drowned out by a high-pitched scream. Someone had finally noticed the dead body congealing on the ground. Almost instantly, a crowd swelled at the mouth of the alley, murmuring in fear and barely concealed fascination. The shrill blast of police whistles did nothing to sway them, and the officers had to force their way through the unyielding onlookers, everyone cursing and shoving at each other.

One of the officers, a redheaded young man with a sparse mustache, barged his way to the front of the pack and stopped short when he spotted Ciel. “Wha—Lord Ciel? What are you doing here?”

He muffled a curse before responding. “Excellent timing, Inspector. These women—” He broke off as Sebastian placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head slightly.

The inspector frowned and looked down the alleyway, right through the two Reapers. “Women? What women?” His eyes widened. “Did you see the culprit, my lord?”

Ciel glanced over his shoulder at Ellie. She shook her head, smiling grimly. Reapers had the power to make themselves invisible and inaudible at will, and both Ellie and Charlotte had done so before leaving their world. They had not anticipated a need to speak directly to a human on their mission, and it would be a problem if someone happened to look up and see two girls in men’s clothes with gardening tools hopping from roof to roof. No one in that crowd of people would be able to see them, no matter how close they were to death’s door. Of course, that raised the question of exactly how Ciel had seen and heard Ellie without her uncloaking herself. Was it because he had sold his soul, and so was already a dead man walking?

He cleared his throat, realizing the situation. “Rather, this _girl_ has been murdered. I beg your pardon, Inspector. Er, my mind is a little unclear at the moment.”

The inspector’s eyes softened. “Of course. That’s more than understandable. No one should have to see something like that, especially someone your—” He stopped, cowed by the thunderous look on Ciel’s face. “A-At any rate, you discovered the body, correct? If you would, my lord, could you give me a brief statement?” On cue, a second officer with a bowl cut sprang forward, notebook and pen at the ready.

Ellie turned to Charlotte and saw with alarm that her face was pale and pained. “Come on. That leg needs attention.”

“All right. Can you help me up to that roof? I don’t think I can go any farther just yet.”

Ellie helped Charlotte climb on to her back, and then leaped up onto the roof. Once she had dismounted, the two of them worked together to shimmy Charlotte’s trousers down to her ankles for better access. The gashes were long and angry, but shallow; they had nearly stopped bleeding already. Ellie pulled her emergency roll of surgical tape from her pocket and began binding the wounds. Charlotte, squeamish, focused her attention on the chaos below.

As Ciel and Sebastian gave their statements to the mustachioed detective and his partner (which consisted mainly of, “I heard a scream and saw the body but nothing else”), a woman’s scream cut through the air. The crowd grumbled and swore as someone pushed through it. The police officers made authoritative noises as they blocked the newcomer’s path. Judging by the continued screeching and wailing, in which Ellie could make out an occasional “my baby,” the woman was Annie Blount’s mother.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to block out the voice, but it kept pushing through. _Don’t think about it_ , she warned herself, almost shouting in her mind. _Bleeding hearts lead to the Thorns of Death. Remember Alan._ The woman’s wailing grew louder. Ellie’s hands froze and her eyes squeezed shut.

She felt Charlotte tap her on top of her head. “Hey, look at that.”

Cautiously, Ellie peered over the side. Another new arrival had shoved his way through the throng, a twenty-something man with frail blue eyes and a priest’s cassock. He gently pried Mrs. Blount (a fortyish, matronly woman whose face was red from screaming) off the officers blocking access to the body. He then led her away, spouting the usual religious tripe to soothe her. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

That, in and of itself, was not unusual, but Ellie followed Charlotte’s finger and saw that she was pointing at Ciel. As the priest and the grieving mother passed him, his eye widened, then narrowed to a slit. His hand clenched around the head of his walking stick, as though he was tempted to beat the priest with it. As for Sebastian, his posture remained relaxed (or rather, as relaxed as a butler could be in the presence of his master), but his hand twitched slightly toward his pocket, where he must have kept his collection of deadly tableware. His own expression was thoughtful, but not yet hostile. The two watched the priest take his leave, and then pushed their way through the crowd and set off in the opposite direction, muttering to themselves.

“That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked.

Ellie returned her attention to bandaging the wound. “Is it? I would think a demon wouldn’t like being around a man devoted to his god. And the boy obviously doesn’t have any faith himself, so maybe he’s disdainful of people like that.”

“I don’t think that’s it. He wasn’t just dismissive, he was really angry. And Sebbykins looked like he was trying to stare right under his skin.” She hesitated, then dropped her voice. “Those two are investigating the child murders on behalf of the human world, right? Do you think they suspect that priest?”

“Maybe they did once, but they can’t anymore. We just told them a demon did it, and that priest was just an ordinary human. Not that what they’re doing is any of our concern anyway.” She tied off the bandage in a neat knot, tucked the roll back into her pocket, and started to pull Charlotte’s trousers back on. Charlotte arched her back and pulled her trousers up all the way, wincing as the fabric scraped over her leg. “That’s set for the moment, but you need the hospital. Don’t worry about the report. I’ll take care of it.” She held out a hand and helped Charlotte to her feet.

“Right…er, actually, can we not go back yet? I feel better, so I’d like to take another look around South Bank.”

She blinked. “Charlotte, that was first aid I just gave you. I stopped the bleeding, but I can’t do anything about infection or any internal damage. You need a real doctor, as soon as possible.”

“I know. I just—” Her eyes started to water, and her face fell as she looked away. “I just want to make double-sure that there’s no trace of that demon. Maybe it hasn’t gotten clean away yet.”

Ellie felt a rush of sympathy as she understood what Charlotte was trying to say. The five souls had been taken on her watch. Despite her recent transfer, her Security training was ingrained too deeply for her to write off a demon as someone else’s problem. She must have been furious with herself for failing to save Annie.

“All right,” Ellie said with a reassuring smile. “We can take another quick look. But listen: don’t blame yourself for this. Tracking and Forensics couldn’t find the demon at all, let alone predict when it was going to strike. You did everything you were supposed to do, everything you _could_ do. None of this is your fault. Right?”

Charlotte’s mouth twisted, and her hands balled into tight fists. “If you say so.”

-

They searched for another two hours. Their progress was slow, Charlotte limping and leaning heavily on Ellie’s shoulder. She kept telling Ellie that they ought to split up and cover more ground, but Ellie refused. Charlotte could hardly walk on her own, and though she tried to hide it, she was clearly upset enough to try something drastic on her own.  There was, of course, no sign of the demon, not even so much as a drop of blood or a whiff of brimstone. If Ellie didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have thought there had ever been a demon here at all.

“I don’t get it,” she grumbled as the sun sank fully below the horizon. “It’s Sunday. The feast of the Immaculate Conception was yesterday. There is no way a demon should have so much oomph in it that no one in the Dispatch can find it. This is ridiculous.”

“There has to be something,” Charlotte insisted. Her face had taken on a faint greenish tinge, and if Ellie hadn’t been holding her up, her knees would have long buckled.

“Why don’t we start heading back?” Ellie suggested, noting Charlotte’s condition with concern. “They’ll be sending out a search party before too much longer. Spears must be having a conniption about unapproved overtime and all that.”

A tiny smile flitted across Charlotte’s face. “One more stop first. I promise.” She hesitated, tapping her fingers on her good leg in a nervous gesture. “You don’t know if the Phantomhive boy is staying nearby, do you? From your surveillance?”

“He’s been at his townhouse in Barnsbury about a week. He always comes to town when he’s—” She suddenly understood what Charlotte was getting at and glared at her. “Absolutely not.”

“What other option do we have? Everyone in the Dispatch has been useless so far. He’s been at this for a while, so he must know _something_. And who better to track a demon than another demon?”

“Charlotte, I realize that you’re upset, but have you forgotten what demons are like? If you ask him for information, he’ll consider that a favor and expect something in return. Something you might not be able to give.”

Her eyes burned. “I don’t care. I can’t let this keep happening, no matter what.”

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening them. Her voice was tight with suppressed emotion. “He killed my sister, Charlotte.”

To her credit, she did not point out that that might not be true. Instead, she reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. But that’s your old life, not this one. You have a job to do now.” She paused, but Ellie did not reply. “If you don’t want to work with them, I can’t force you. I _do_ need your help, though. Even without this stupid leg, it’s clear now that I’m not capable of doing anything on my own.” She cleared her throat. When she spoke again, the note of bitterness in her voice had dissolved. “Besides, the captain’s just going to send you there for surveillance anyway, right? You might as well join us.”

Ellie grasped for a counterargument and found none. She sighed. “Whatever happens next, I am holding you personally responsible.”

“That’s fair.” Grinning, she crawled back onto Ellie’s back, and the two of them made their way toward the Phantomhive townhouse.

It was full dark when they arrived, and the windows were already glowing. Ellie let Charlotte down by the front door and held back as the latter knocked. She had been here twice in the last week and countless times before as Jasper and Claudia’s guest. Feeling vaguely nauseated, she fixed her eyes on the tree in the front yard that she and Claudia had climbed as girls. Had Ciel and his brother climbed that tree before? She pushed the invasive thought out of her head. There was no point in humanizing him; he was already too far gone.

No sooner had Charlotte dropped her arm from the knocker when the door slid silently open, revealing Sebastian and his insufferable smile. He did not seem at all surprised to see them as he welcomed them in. They declined his offer to take their hats and Scythes, Charlotte with a slightly sheepish smile and Ellie without a word. Unperturbed, he informed them that his master was available to see them and led them into the parlor. Ellie strained her ears but heard no other servants scurrying throughout the house. Evidently, only Sebastian was there to take care of the earl’s needs. _Christ, are they even trying to hide how unnatural this is?_

Ciel was sitting in an armchair by the fire, sorting through a thick sheaf of heavy documents. He looked up, startled, as the Reapers entered. “You two! What are you doing here?” His accusing eye darted to his butler. “Sebastian, who told you to let them in?”

Sebastian placed his hand over the place where his heart should be and bowed deeply. “My apologies, Young Master. As you ordered me to assist in finding the culprit of the recent child murders, I took the liberty of admitting these two ladies. I believe they can be of some assistance to us.”

Ciel glowered at each of them in turn, then sighed and set his documents down on a nearby table. “Fine, then. Tell me what you know, and be quick about it.”

Without waiting to be offered, Charlotte took a seat across from him, hissing in pain as the weight went off her leg. “Oh, no, Your Lordship. We already told you that the culprit was a demon. Now it’s your turn to tell us something.” She smiled at Sebastian. “Fair’s fair, right?” He inclined his head in agreement.

Ciel, however, raised his eyebrow. “And why would I do that? What do I have to gain from revealing my hand?”

“The killer, of course. Your queen asked you to find him—and none too nicely, I’ll wager. Word on the street it that the child killings are the work of Jack the Ripper, whom you told the queen was taken care of. You must be in some trouble, hmm?” Ciel twitched, betraying himself. “Well, we want the same thing, so we thought it would be prudent to join forces, as it were.”

“You did,” Ellie grumbled before she could stop herself.

“ _We_ did,” Charlotte insisted. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. She doesn’t like demons very much.”

“I’ve noticed.” He looked her up and down. “Where have I seen you before, anyway? Were you hovering outside my bedroom window at any point?”

“Yes, but I imagine you saw me in your library,” Ellie said after a moment, remembering her encounter with Sebastian in the graveyard. “Apparently, there’s a portrait of me hanging in there.”

“Of you? You mean the girl my grandmother painted? Why on earth would she paint you?”

“Because we were friends. Sisters, almost.”

“What, with a Reaper? Someone she couldn’t even see? How foolish do you think I am?”

Charlotte cut in before Ellie could give an honest answer. “Didn’t your butler tell you, Your Lordship? All Reapers were once human. We took our own lives, and as a result, we are doomed to bear witness to humans’ last moments and desires to live, until the day that we are forgiven.”

He stared at them, taken aback. His mouth opened, but it took him a moment to find his voice. “That can’t be right.”

“Trust me, it is. I slit my wrists after my lover died in battle. Ellie here shot herself in the head after—”

“ _Charlotte_ ,” Ellie growled. She had begun to feel very cold, and a loud roaring echoed in the back of her ears. Her mouth had a sour, metallic taste to it.

Ciel turned to Sebastian. “Did you know about this?”

“I had my suspicions, but I did not receive confirmation until very recently.” He bowed to Ellie, who looked away and said nothing.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You did not ask,” he replied with a self-righteous grin.

“Humph.” He flung himself back in his chair and petulantly crossed his arms over his thin chest. “In other words, then, the two of you are a couple of cowards. You didn’t have the courage to deal with your problems yourselves, so you ran away. Why should I throw my lot in with people like you?”

Charlotte’s face blanched as he spoke, but Ellie’s face remained neutral. “There are worse fates than ours, Milord. You’ll find that out before too long.” She nodded at Sebastian.

For just the briefest second, a shadow passed over the young boy’s face. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, the fear of a child sensing a monster under his bed. Then Ellie blinked, and his face was a contemptuous mask once more. “As you will. Either way, your help is not necessary. I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my duty to Her Majesty on my own.”

“Is that so?” Ellie asked with a smirk. “How’s that hunt for your parents’ killers going?”

The mask broke again, this time revealing white-hot rage. “You—”

“All right, that’s enough!” Charlotte interrupted loudly. “Even if you don’t want our information, Your Lordship, you’ll want our help in apprehending the killer. Your butler’s already confirmed that a demon is involved. That’s not something you’ll be able to handle on your own.”

“I am not on my own. I have Sebastian.”

“Yes, one skinny old curmudgeon who’s been starving for two years, against a demon who ate today and who has enough power to evade the full force of the Grim Reaper Dispatch. Is that really a risk you want to take?” She glanced at Sebastian. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he replied with a cool smile.

She turned back to Ciel. “You have your revenge and your family pride at stake here. For their sake, having three inhuman creatures on your side would be a lot better than just one. You hold the advantage here. What do you have to lose?”

Ciel looked at them both, his eye seeming to pierce straight through them. “Why go so far? What do you gain from this?”

“Our bosses off our backs,” Charlotte answered, “and one less demon off the streets.”

Ciel thought for a moment longer, staring into the fire. At last, he nodded. “Very well. I’ll humor you for a while. On one condition.” He pointed to Ellie. “Never draw your weapon against my property again. If so, I’ll instruct him to defend himself, and I imagine you’ve seen the end result of that.”

Ellie felt a vein throb in her neck, but she managed to keep herself calm. “Only as long as we’re working together.”

His lips twisted. “Fair enough.”

“And I’d like the same assurance from your pet. I don’t want to expect a knife every time I turn around.”

“Fine. Sebastian, this is an order: until we have captured the killer, do not harm these women.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed again, eyes glowing and fangs glinting.

Ciel nodded and turned back to Ellie. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“…We do.” She held out her hand, and the boy took it readily. His little fingers felt very warm.


	7. As it is in Heaven

As it turned out, Ciel had sniffed out a promising lead before the Reapers apprised him of the supernatural element. Using Scotland Yard’s case files (which, no doubt, Sebastian had purloined on his behalf), he had located the families of all the victims and conducted unofficial interviews with them under the guise of offering them monetary aid.

“You don’t suppose anyone would think that odd?” Ellie asked. “A peer of the realm paying personal calls to commoners whose children just so happen to have been killed recently?”

“For any other peer, yes, that would be unusual,” Ciel admitted. “In my case, it is to be expected. My predecessors were great practitioners of such charitable works, particularly toward those respectables affected by the Underworld. There was a sense of obligation there, if you will. And at any rate, I am providing the same sort of aid to many other families, so the victims’ households will not stand out.”

There had been the briefest pause before the word _predecessors_. Was it still too painful for him to say _parents_? Ellie felt a stab of compassion before hastily rebuilding her defenses. Her voice was glib and smooth when she spoke. “And I assume your naturally social personality really sells it.” Ciel colored a little but did not rise.

Most of the content of those interviews, he went on, was fruitless. The families were too shocked and grief-stricken to carry on extended conversation, and Ciel could not push them too hard on the pretense of giving aid. There were, however, a few key points he had picked up during his investigation. The first was that, although the victims had all come from different sorts of home environments, none of their families had been particularly well off. Two children were orphans living on the streets had been an orphan living on the streets. Annie Blount’s father was a legal clerk who had just lost his job. Two other victims came from large, impoverished families who relied on the church and the workhouse to keep roofs over their heads. They were all struggling with money and all from the same three-square-mile stretch of London.

“Their poverty isn’t surprising,” Ellie mused. “With constant worry anxiety over basic necessities, those families would have been more prone to despair and envy. That emotional vulnerability lured in the demon.”

“Does the fact that the killings all took place in the same area mean anything significant?” Ciel asked.

She shook her head. “Only that the demon likes to hunt there. I’m not sure if there’s anything in particular that’s drawing it there; you can find families like that all over the city, after all. I think the demon is hiding out somewhere in that neighborhood, and its choice of hunting grounds are a matter of convenience.”

 “In other words,” Charlotte added, “it’s basically picking them off at random. That’s to be expected. Demons don’t particularly care whose souls they destroy.” Ellie nodded in agreement, thinking back on how many people had died due to Victor targeting Martha’s soul.

Sebastian, who had stayed silent through the analysis, spoke up suddenly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Murray, but I fear you are mistaken. Demons have preferences in taste, just as humans do. If there is a choice in the matter, we will go to great lengths to acquire appealing meals. If this demon is exclusively preying on children, then I can only guess that it finds them more delicious than adults.” He glanced at Ellie and smirked a little as she fumed.

If Charlotte shared her partner’s consternation at this declaration, she didn’t show it. “So, there’s something about poor children that it especially likes. I don’t think that’s quite enough to go on, though. There are lots of poor children in that area. Why those five?” They wracked their brains and found nothing.

The second thing that Ciel had discovered was that the families of two of the previous victims (the only ones that had them) had noticed a change in their behavior prior to their deaths. The two girls, Jane Parker and Harry Smith, had both seemed unusually despondent in the days leading up to their deaths. Neither had ever been especially excitable—Jane was too polite and Harry too shy to be overly chatty and cheerful—but the change in attitude had been readily apparent to both of their families. For about week before their respective deaths, they hardly ever spoke, and their eyes were raw and red. When Mrs. Parker tried to ask her daughter about it, Jane had lashed out at her. Mrs. Smith, for her part, hadn’t noticed her son’s depression until it was too late, a fact she bitterly regretted.

“That’s why it targeted them,” Charlotte said. “You were right, Ellie. Their despair must have attracted the demon. I bet Annie and the other two were feeling the same way.”

Ciel, however, looked thoughtful. “Is it possible that the demon came across the children before it killed them? Their despair could have summoned it by accident, and their states of mind would only worsen under the strain of the secrecy and the demon’s attentions.” Again, his eye flashed as some strong emotion threatened to break the surface. Sebastian turned his head away, looking as though he were trying to fight back a snicker. Ellie felt another mingled surge of sorrow and rage as she realized the implications of Ciel’s matter-of-fact theory.

“I don’t think there were any contracts,” she said once she had gotten control of herself. “I examined Edward Pole’s body this afternoon. He was in poor condition, of course, but there was no Mark of the Covenant anywhere on him. Besides, if any of the children had willingly sold their souls, their names wouldn’t have been on the To-Die List.”

“I see.” Was that disappointment on his face, or relief? It was too subtle to discern. “But it could be possible that the demon made contact with them prior to killing them? Perhaps to persuade them to form a contract?”

“It’s possible, but given the demon’s savagery when it actually takes the souls, I don’t think there would be a lot of patience or meticulous planning involved. Subtlety is not this monster’s strong point.” She thought a moment. “I _do_ think that the children’s simultaneous depression might be related. If not the demon, maybe someone else approached them and caused them to feel that way. That could be the missing link between the victims.”

Ciel and Sebastian exchanged a glance, the former agitated and the latter calm. “I think you’re right,” Ciel replied, “ _and_ I think I know who that person might be.”

He went on to explain his third and final discovery. Every child had had a connection to the Catholic church, an unusual coincidence in a country whose monarch headed her own religion. The Parker, Smith, and Blount families had received alms and spiritual counsel, which extended even to private visits in their own homes. The church had also offered the homeless victims, Edward Pole and Catherine Faber, regular shelter in exchange for some light chores. Most significant of all was the fact that the same priest made this contact with each child on a regular basis. His name was Father Nicholas Fletcher, and he was the priest who had comforted Mrs. Blount that afternoon.

“Before you two came along, I suspected that Fletcher was the culprit,” Ciel admitted. “I still think he’s involved in some way. The fact that he is so heavily involved with the families, to the point that he was the last person at least two victims interacted with before dying, is highly suspicious.” His eye narrowed. “And I don’t like how quickly he arrived on the scene today. His church is over a mile away, and he was meant to be saying a funeral mass at that time.”

“Miss Catherine Faber’s funeral, in fact,” Sebastian added. “As she had no other family or friends to mourn her, Fletcher took it upon himself to pay for and conduct her internment. An informed acquaintance of the young master’s confirmed that Fletcher is in the process of making the same arrangements for Mr. Edward Pole.”

That must have been the Undertaker. He was certainly in a position to know, and as far as Ellie could see, he had no reason to lie. “But I caught a glimpse of him today,” she said. “From what I could tell, he didn’t have any of the signs that he was a demon in human form. He was just an ordinary priest.”

Ciel frowned. “He may not have killed the children himself, but he has to be involved somehow. Is it possible he formed a contract with the demon?”

“To what end?” Charlotte asked. “Killing children? What’s the point?”

“There doesn’t have to be a point,” Ellie said in a low voice. “They’re demons. They don’t need a reason to do atrocious things.”

There was a brief, heavy silence. Ciel’s frown became more pronounced as he studied Ellie’s face. Beside him, Sebastian remained impassive.

“At any rate,” Ciel said at last, “we need more information. Tomorrow, I’ll pay a visit to Annie Blount’s family. If you insist on coming along, then stay out of my way.”

Ellie grit her teeth. What a little brat this kid was! Claudia and Jasper had never acted that way, and they had far more reason to feel entitled and spoiled than this poor boy. Come to think of it, though, Martha had had a selfish streak to her… _no, no, mustn’t think of that. Mustn’t compare these two anymore, or else I won’t be able to do my job properly._

As she and Charlotte excused themselves and started back to the human world, she felt a tight knot in her stomach that refused to loosen.

-

Ellie went returned to the human world alone the next day. Charlotte was finally in the hospital, where the head nurse had thoroughly chewed the two of them out for waiting so long to check in. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t infected, but part of her quadriceps had torn. The doctors recommended a week of bedrest to let the muscles heal, so naturally, Charlotte had promised Ellie that she would be back on the case after a day or two.

In the meantime, Cartwright had altered Ellie’s orders, and both William T. Spears and Management had signed off on them. Rather than consulting on Charlotte’s case as an authority on demonic victims, she would now run point on the investigation until such time that Charlotte could return to work. Her work with Sebastian would take priority, so there wouldn’t be anyone covering for or keeping an eye on her. There were no other real specifics involved, and Ellie did not mention what she would really be doing. If Cartwright knew about the alliance Charlotte had made with Ciel, he would lose his shit and pass the case on to someone else. Better to keep quiet for now.

The night before, Ciel had idly mentioned that he planned to meet with the Blount family “around noon, most likely.” He hadn’t said anything more specific than that (perhaps in hopes that the Reapers would arrive too late and he wouldn’t have to put up with them), so Ellie made sure to arrive at noon on the dot. However, the finicky Gates had dropped her at a location halfway across the city, and she ended up at the address Charlotte had given her ten minutes later than she had wanted to be.

Once residents of a modest townhouse, the Blounts’ change in circumstances had forced them to take up rooms in a boarding house in the less savory part of the district. The building was old and grimy, with a number of missing bricks and a door hanging tenuously to its broken hinges. Ellie didn’t even have to touch it as she stepped over the threshold. Inside, the wallpaper was faded and peeling, and the floor was littered with rubbish. It was not an overly large building, but there were six doors leading to rented rooms on the first floor alone. As she passed them, Ellie could hear squalling children and angry voices in various languages. Silently, she climbed to the top floor and found the Blount’s room behind the last door on the right of the hall. Using her powers, the slipped inside without having to open it.

The Blounts’ room was cramped and cluttered. They were a family of six now that Annie was gone, but they only had one bed to share. The only other furnishings they had were a low, rickety table and a few mismatched chairs. Mrs. Blount was sitting in one of them, sobbing into her hands. A few of the younger children were scattered about the floor, wide-eyed and silent. There was no sign of the father or the two eldest boys; they must have been out looking for work. Poverty left them no time to grieve.

To Ellie’s relief, she had made it just in time. Ciel sat across from Mrs. Blount, awkwardly waiting for her to regain enough control for him to conduct his interview. A large basket of non-perishable food and thick clothing rested on the table between them. The priest from yesterday, Fletcher, knelt by Mrs. Blount’s chair, trying and failing to soother her. Sebastian took up space along the back wall. As Ellie entered, Ciel jumped and clamped his lips shut to keep from crying out. Mrs. Blount was too upset and Fletcher too occupied in comforting her to notice. Ciel glanced around, saw that the children had not reacted (even though one was looking right at her), and glowered at Ellie. She shrugged, fighting a smile.

Ciel took a deep, soundless breath and turned back to Mrs. Blount. “I can’t even imagine how you must feel,” he said in a compassionate voice that made Ellie blink in surprise. “I lost my parents at an early age, but a parent’s loss of their child must be a thousand times worse. You have my greatest sympathies.” After only a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

To his (well-hidden) horror, Mrs. Blount eagerly grabbed onto his hand with both of hers. “You are so kind,” she whimpered. “So kind, even after your own tragedy. How cruel this world is…how very cruel…” She collapsed into sobs again, wringing poor Ciel’s hand. Sebastian covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Fletcher stood up and cleared his throat loudly. “I think that will do for now, Milord.” He expertly extracted Ciel’s hand from Mrs. Blount’s death grip. “As you can see, Mary is far too distressed to continue this conversation.” There was an accusatory note in his voice, making it clear whom he blamed for such distress. “You must be very busy, Milord, so perhaps now might be a good time to leave. If it please you,” he added after a moment.

Unoffended, Ciel rose and took his walking stick from where it leaned against the table. “Of course. My apologies for the intrusion. Before I leave you, though, is there any other way I can be of assistance to you, Mrs. Blount? Perhaps I may pass along something to Scotland Yard on your behalf? I know how difficult it is dealing with the police.

Fletcher’s face hardened. “That is very kind of you, Milord, but I believe Mrs. Blount has already—”

“W-Wait a minute!” She looked up at Ciel, dripping mucus and tears onto the front of her dress. “I’ve just remembered, there _is_ something I forgot to mention. Lord Phantomhive, would you really tell them for me? I just—I couldn’t deal with those ghastly people again.”

“Of course. I am at your service in all things.” Ellie couldn’t help but snort. Ciel’s grip tightened on the head of his stick, but he did not respond.

“You really are so kind. The world is so much better with people like you in it.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “You see, they had asked me if I had noticed anything unusual about—about Annie. Before she…” She took a shuddering breath and moved on. “W-Well, Annie was always such a bright and happy girl. Hardly ever cried as a baby, bless her. Only, she’d been different recently. Unhappy, like.”

Ellie nodded. That matched the other victims. It definitely wasn’t a coincidence.

Ciel’s tone remained neutral. “I see. That could be very, very important to the investigation. Thank you for telling me.” Mrs. Blount straightened up in her chair, a watery smile brightening her red face. “If I may ask, do you know how long Annie had been acting that way? It doesn’t have to be exact, just your best guess.”

“Why, Lord Phantomhive, I don’t have to guess at all. I know exactly when it was: Friday morning. That was when I took the children to service to pray that my husband’s job interview would go well, but Annie refused to come. She said—begging Your Lordship’s pardon, and yours, Father, she obviously didn’t mean it—that there was no such thing as God, and that she never wanted to go to church again.”

This time, Ciel was unable to suppress a spasm in his shoulders. Even Sebastian looked up in interest. Ellie did not blame him; her own eyes had widened, and her body was taut as a line. This was a crucial discovery. There was no more effective way to attract a demon than to recant one’s faith. That had to be one of, if not _the_ reason why the demon had targeted Annie, and perhaps the others as well. But why had it happened? What caused a nine-year-old girl to reject her god?

Fletcher let out a nervous chuckle. “I assure you, Mary, I take no offense. Children are prone to tantrums even at that age, and of course, Annie couldn’t possibly have felt that way in her heart of hearts. There’s nothing unusual about outbursts like that.” His face, Ellie noted, had turned the color of sour milk.

“But it _was_ unusual!” Mrs. Blount insisted. “Not for other children, perhaps, but Annie was always such a sweet, even-tempered girl. Such hysteria isn’t like her at all. Why, it was almost like she was possessed!”

Fletcher gently reproached her for this exaggeration, and Mrs. Blount maintained that it was true. Ellie had stopped listening to the particulars. In fact, all sounds died away as she absorbed the innocent remark, drowned out by the spastic throb of her Reaper’s pulse. _That’s it. That’s how it happened. That’s why it disappeared without a trace. That’s why it could act on Sundays. It had a human’s body to shield it._

Her racing thoughts staggered to a halt as logic set in. _It couldn’t have been possessing the children, could it? What would be the point of that when it could just attack them outright? Is it just randomly hopping from person to person so that it can kill without detection? Or is it tearing the children apart from the inside?_

She had to know. While the adults danced around a full-blown argument, she picked her way around the stunned children and planted herself right in front of Sebastian. The hand holding her Death Scythe twitched as his politely-interested gaze met hers.

“Is she right?” she asked in a tense voice. “Was that little girl possessed?”

With only the slightest hint of movement, so as not to attract the attention of the others, Sebastian shook his head.

She did not relax. “But the demon _is_ possessing other people, right? You can tell that much?”

This time, he nodded.

“You son of a bitch. Why didn’t you say so before?” But, of course, she knew already: she hadn’t asked him, just like Ciel hadn’t asked if a demon was the culprit. His answering smirk chastised her playfully.

Ciel shot his butler a dirty look over his shoulder and turned back to the oblivious adults. “Thank you for taking me into your confidence,” he said in a loud voice, so that Mrs. Blount and Fletcher stopped their disagreement. “You have my word that I shall deliver your message to Scotland Yard. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d hate to take up more of your valuable time. Please do not hesitate if I can assist you in any way.” He bowed like a courtier, gestured for Sebastian to follow, and started for the door.

Before he could take his leave, though, he turned his head just enough to give Ellie a meaningful glance. His eye darted from her, to Fletcher, then back to her. Ellie nodded and leaned against the wall, waiting for Fletcher to take his own leave. Invisible as she was, she was in a perfect position to tail him, perhaps discovering whatever connection he had to the murders in the process. She was pleased Ciel had realized that, though it would have been nice if he had actually asked her.

She didn’t have long to wait. Not five minutes after Ciel’s departure, Fletcher checked his pocket watch and said in alarm that we was going to be late for service. Ellie checked her own watch and frowned. It was nearly half past noon; if the Sext service wasn’t already over, it would be soon. Where was Fletcher going, then, and why did he feel the need to lie? She watched him closely as he blessed each member of the family, and then followed right on his heels as he left. Once outside, Fletcher flagged down a hansom cab, asked to go to the Church of St. Michael, and climbed in. Ellie just managed to slip inside before the door closed and the carriage started to move.

She took the seat next to him and twisted her head around so that she could get a good look at him. His face was still sickly pale, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. However, it didn’t seem to be from guilt so much as anger; when he was not grinding his teeth, he was muttering curses under his breath. Ellie caught the words “brat” and “meddlesome.” Evidently, he wasn’t happy about Ciel’s interview with Mrs. Blount, though Ellie couldn’t think of a reason why. Did he really relish his influence with the poor of the district that much? If so, it wasn’t an especially Christian sentiment. There was definitely more to this man than his cassock and his prayers.

A light snow was beginning to fall, and the streets jammed as masses of pedestrians hurried into cabs. Fletcher’s own cab slowed to a jerky crawl, coming to prolonged stops several times. The priest slammed his fist against the roof of the cab and snapped at the driver to get a move on, but of course, there was nothing anyone could do. What should have been a ten minute trip took almost an hour. Two blocks away from the church, Fletcher hopped out, grudgingly tossed a few coins at the gape-mouthed driver, and raced down the street, heedless of the snow melting in his hair. Ellie kept easy pace with him, tugging the brim of her hat further over her eyes to shield her glasses from the wet.

Unlike the grand cathedrals of predominately Catholic countries, the Church of St. Michael was drab and stark. It was squashed in between a haberdashery and a dressmaker’s, taller only by virtue of its crooked spire. Ellie wondered if the church had been repurposed from some other building and made a note to check the public records. She started to go up the uneven steps to the front doors, but doubled back when she saw Fletcher squeezing down the alley. She caught up just in time to see him slip through a side door. _That’s odd_ , she mused as she chased him. _This is his own church. Why would he not go through the front? Does he not want anyone to_ _see him?_

The side door led to a squat vestibule that opened up into the transept between the altar and the pews. Fletcher lingered here for a moment, alternating glances between his pocket watch and the old woman fumbling with a rosary in the back pew. These latter looks barely suppressed hostility. _He’s meeting someone here_ , Ellie guessed, _and he needs to be alone to do it._ She scanned the room for any potential visitors, but the old woman was the only other person in the church.

As she looked around, though, she noticed that there were hardly any of the usual religious trappings in the church. No stained-glass portraits, no woven tapestries, and only a few candles. There was a small stature behind the altar of Christ on the cross, his face distorted with pain, and a larger statue of Michael the archangel stomping on the Devil to the left of the sanctuary, but nothing else. Ellie had once been Anglican (more out of obligation than any real belief, even before Victor), but even she knew that Catholic churches were supposed to be overflowing with icons. This place hardly seemed like a Catholic church at all.

After about ten minutes, the old woman finished praying and tottered out the front doors. Fletcher waited until the heavy doors slammed shut, then let out a forceful puff of air. He took one last look around, found no one, and walked in the direction of the altar without blessing himself. To Ellie’s surprise, though, he veered off and approached the angel statue instead. After looking around for a third time, he reached out, grabbed the angel’s right wing, and jerked it downward. There was a click and whirr, followed by a low rumble as the statue moved backward of its own accord, revealing the top of a stone staircase.

Ellie gasped. A secret passage! In a place like this! What could be at the bottom of it? Was it something to do with the case? Fletcher knew about it—did the children? Had Fletcher taken them down there and (she thought with a shudder) _done something_ to them? She bounced her Death Scythe against the palm of her empty hand as Fletcher climbed down the staircase, then started to follow before the statue dragged back into place—

“ _Eleanor_!”

She paused, heedless of the moving statue. “Who’s there?” she whispered, feeling a chill. The voice had been faint, most likely coming from outside. A woman’s voice. A woman, she realized too late, who called her by her full name. She could think of only one woman who did that. “Martha?” she whimpered, not daring to raise her voice. “Martha, is that you?”

 _Of course it isn’t_ , the rational part of her mind retorted. _Martha’s gone. She’s worse than dead—she’s digested. I just heard a hallucination, if not a trap._ The angel statue was halfway back into place, but Ellie’s feet refused to move.

“ _Eleanor_!” Martha’s voice shouted again. “ _I’m here_! _Help me_!”

 _Definitely a trap_ , Ellie decided, feeling the blood start to flow again. Someone did not want her to see where that secret passageway led, but rather than entering the church and physically restraining her, their strategy was to stand outside and accurately impersonate her dead sister, whom no one outside the Dispatch should have known about, to lure her out. A being unable to enter a church, with knowledge of a person’s greatest emotional weakness—what else could it be but a demon? It had to be the demon they were looking for; why else would it want to stop her from investigating Fletcher? The priest and his passageway really _were_ connected to the case.

Still, that was no reason to ignore the goading. Why waste time tailing an accomplice when she could take care of the culprit and put an end to the murders for good? Besides, the creature insulted Martha’s memory by parroting her like that. Grinning, Ellie hefted her Death Scythe and raced back to the side door. She thought about opening it, but changed her mind and slipped through the crack between the door and the frame, intending to startle the beast. She dove through, swinging her Scythe.

As her feet hit the ground, she froze. Martha stood before her, arms outstretched. She wore the wedding dress she had died in, the billowing skirts doing little to hide the frame consumption had ravaged. Her red hair was loose and flowing. Her eyes were bright and blue. Ellie had eyes like that, before.

Martha stared at her stunned sister. A sharp-toothed sneer stretched her pale face. The blue in her eyes bled away. “Oh, dear. You’re an imbecile, you know that?” She swiped at her, her fingernails now black and lengthening.

At the last minute, Ellie swung her Death Scythe about and blocked the claws with the flat of the axe head. The screeching, scraping sound of nails against metal made her wince. “You’re the one who taunted a madwoman with an axe,” she growled through grit teeth. She stepped forward, swinging the axe, but the demon leapt out of range.

“That’s a very detailed impersonation you’ve managed there,” Ellie went on, searching for weaknesses and finding nothing obvious. “I can’t imagine how you’d know what her damned wedding dress looks like, unless you saw her in it yourself.” Her grin was bloodthirsty. “Did you kill my sister, you monster?”

The doppelganger matched her grin. “Maybe.”

All outside sounds faded away. Everything slowed. Ellie heard faint screaming inside her head. She forced herself to hold still. “And the children? The five poor children your man Fletcher buttered up for you?”

“I would hardly call him my man, but yes. Not that they were worth eating. Hardly more than a mouthful, any of them.” Her grin widened. “I’ll need many more of those little scraps to sate my hunger.”

This time, Ellie wasn’t able to hold herself back. She attacked, but the demon turned to smoke and the Death Scythe passed through it like air. The smoke rose and swelled into a cloud, which took off toward the street on a gust of wind. A low chuckle echoed in its wake. With a howl of frustration, Ellie took off after it, only to smack into something hard. She lost her balance and landed hard on her knees, her glasses flying off and skittering against the road.

“Ow!” a familiar voice yelped. “Shit, my glasses…Ellie, is that you?”

“Charlotte? Wait, don’t move your feet.” There was momentary confusion as they recovered their respective spectacles.

As soon as she could see again, Ellie grabbed her Death Scythe from where it had fallen, pushed passed Charlotte, and ran out onto the main road. She looked around in desperation, but the cloud had gone and the people walking by were ordinary and unpossessed. She started to run in one direction, then the other, and then stopped. “God damn it!” she screamed, throwing her Death Scythe down with all her strength. It landed on its blade and stuck fast in the dirt.

“Wh-What is it?” Charlotte asked, wide-eyed. “What happened?”

“The demon,” Ellie snarled. “It was just here, but it got away. I let it get away again.” Her voice cracked and her eyes watered. “And the fucker all but admitted it killed my sister.”


	8. Vigil

Charlotte, as it turned out, had checked herself out of the hospital against the strenuous objections of her doctor. “I couldn’t leave you all by yourself,” she said with a shy smile. “Not with two demons involved, anyway. Besides, my leg’s a lot better. See?” She stood on her wounded leg and hopped a few times. Some of the blood drained out of her cheeks, but she managed to keep her footing. She walked unaided back to the Phantomhive townhouse, though she still limped heavily.

This time, Ciel was ready for them when Sebastian showed them in. “About time. Would it kill you, by the way, to make yourself visible to other people once in a while? I feel like a great fool trying to stop reacting to you.”

“It’s not my fault if you’re unable to control your feelings,” Ellie grumbled. “Besides, if we don’t stay hidden, we’ll cause a scene. We don’t exactly blend in.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you wear men’s clothing.”

“It’s not ‘men’s clothing,’ it’s _my_ clothing. It was tailored for me. And I’d like to see you fighting mortal combat in a crinoline.”

“Humph. My fiancée can do that easily, and she’s far younger than you. And more emotionally stable.”

“All right, that’ll do,” Charlotte cut in before Ellie could retort. “Now, I’ve only just got here, so could someone please explain what’s going on?”

Ciel nodded at Sebastian, who succinctly recapped his master’s conversation with Mrs. Blount and Fletcher. When he had finished, Ellie took over, recounting everything from the time Ciel had left the Blount residence to the moment she had bumped into Charlotte.

“How pathetic,” Ciel said with a scoff once she had finished. “One little glimpse of your sister, whom you are fully aware is dead, and you become completely useless. No wonder you committed suicide.” He took a sip of tea, smirking over the rim of the cup.

Ellie felt Charlotte tense beside her, but she managed to smile coolly. “I don’t expect you to understand how I felt. It’s not like you lost your older sibling, after all.” Ciel spluttered on his tea. Sebastian hid his grin behind a gloved hand.

Charlotte coughed, fighting her own amusement. “W-Well, look on the bright side. At least Ellie found the secret passage. And it’s not a big deal that she couldn’t go down it today, right, Ellie?” Ellie said nothing. “Right. It’s only Monday afternoon, so we have plenty of time to explore it and come up with a proper plan. No good to rush when the stakes are this high.”

“Actually, we only have until Thursday at the latest. Whatever Fletcher is doing to those children, they start feeling the effects on Friday. That’s when Annie Blount started acting up, and we can assume it was the same for the other children.”

“Assuming the demon keeps to this arbitrary schedule and doesn’t get peckish early,” Ellie grumbled.

Charlotte ignored her. “What do you suggest, then, Your Lordship? You want to dive right into the passageway completely unprepared? Remember, you have to go through a church to get there, and the passageway and wherever it goes might be under the same protections. You won’t be able to take Sebastian with you.”

His one eye blinked. “Nonsense. Sebastian can enter a church easily. Can’t you, Sebastian?”

Sebastian’s smile became somewhat strained. “If that is your order, Young Master.”

“Have you ever seen him enter a church?” Ellie pointed out.

“Certainly. During my—during a funeral we attended recently.”

He must have been talking about his aunt, Ellie realized. She had caught a glimpse of Ciel entering the church on the Record of a homeless man starving to death across the street. Sebastian had been there, too, pushing a cart of rose petals for the funeral service. Although…

“Did he actually go in the church? she asked, knowing full well what the answer was. “Or did he just wait on the doorstep—or, more likely, several feet away?”

“The doorstep.” He looked at Sebastian in contemptuous disbelief. “You really can’t enter a church?”

There was a slight hint of pride in Sebastian’s reply. “As I said, Young Master, I shall follow wherever you lead, no matter the consequence.”

“But he’ll be of no use to you in a place like that,” Ellie finished for him, a smile playing about her lips. “His powers can’t stand up to so much concentrated faith. Actually, I don’t think _he_ could stand up.” Sebastian’s polite façade did not crack, but his pupils seemed to have narrowed a little.

Ciel stared into his cup, brow furrowed. “Whatever the risk, we can’t just ignore that passage. But if there is something down there…” He thought for a few seconds longer, sighed, and looked up at the Reapers. “Would you two be able to do it? Without the two of us?”

They exchanged a glance. “We _could_ , certainly,” Charlotte said, “but one of us always needs to stay with you—or, rather, with Sebastian. And I don’t like the idea of only one of us down in that passage. Something might happen like it did today.” Ellie twitched.

“I can assure you, Sebastian will do nothing untoward. He cannot act without my orders, and I see no reason why I would give an order for him to take another’s soul.”

“Does he always follow your intentions, then?” Charlotte asked. “He hasn’t ever taken another meaning to your orders, which would cause an entirely different result?” Ciel flushed, and Sebastian only smiled. “Exactly. By definition, demons are untrustworthy creatures, so Dispatch protocol states that at least one Reaper from the Security Department must be present whenever someone dies in a demon’s presence.” She nodded at Ellie. “Out of the two of us, it would need to be her. I’m not with Security anymore, and at any rate, Sebastian made it very clear to his last handler that he won’t accept anyone other than Ellie watching him.”

Ciel’s head snapped around. “Excuse me? Why on earth would you ask for someone like this to sneak around my manor, watching everything we do?” Ellie straightened up, ignoring the implied insult and equally interested in the response.

Sebastian was unruffled, as usual. “Pure amusement, nothing more.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I do not lie, Young Master.”

Ciel glowered at him. Ellie knew that he was thinking the same thing that she was: that there was an easy way to conceal the truth within that broad generalization. What exactly did he find so amusing about her? Her temper? Her combat skills? Because he had known her before? Clearly, he would not elaborate in present company. She shot him a scowl of her own, receiving a lazy grin in turn.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Ciel said, pointedly turning away from his butler. “In any case, the two of you will not explore the passage together, and Sebastian cannot go near it at all. That leaves me.” He hesitated, his cheeks reddening. “And I doubt it would be wise to go unaccompanied.” Charlotte and Sebastian shared amused looks over his head. “How would it be if one of you went down the passage with me, while the other guards the door with Sebastian?”

Ellie thought for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t see why not. Charlotte, why don’t you go with Milord here, and I’ll—”

“Er, actually,” Charlotte interrupted, “why don’t you go with Earl Phantomhive instead, and I’ll go with the butler?”

Ellie frowned at her. “But wouldn’t it make more sense the other way ‘round? I am technically supposed to babysit the demon, after all. And this is technically your case. I’m just helping.”

She fidgeted in her chair. “Yeah, I know, but…I don’t really want to go near the tunnel, that’s all.”

“What, are you claustrophobic? Even with your broom closet of a flat?”

“I just…” She bit her lip and studied her shoes. “I’d really rather not go into a church if I could help it. I—I was a novice in a priory, you know. Before.”

“Oh.” Ellie rubbed the back of her own neck. She was content to leave it at that; it was considered very bad form to ask anything about a Reaper’s life that they did not volunteer. She turned to Sebastian, hiding her discomfort with a stony stare. “If I leave you alone with her, can I trust you not to gut her the way you did Freeman? Or hurt her at all, actually?” she added, filling the loophole as she spotted it.

Sebastian bowed. “You have my word, Miss.”

Ciel nodded. “Fine. In that case, the two of you will guard next week’s potential victims while the two of us are in the passage. Sebastian, this is an order: tonight, I want you to find out Fletcher’s schedule. Where he goes, when he goes there, and which locations have potential victims. I also want to figure out when he’ll be away from his church, so Eleanor and I can investigate.” Ellie jumped at the familiar use of her full name. “Got it? I don’t care how you do it, just get it done.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed again, then left the room.

Ellie watched him go, but the full meaning of Ciel’s words sank in. She leapt to her feet and ran from the room, ignoring Charlotte’s surprise and Ciel’s steady annoyance.

He was closing the door behind him as she caught up. Before it could shut completely, she stuck the handle of her Death Scythe between the door and the jamb, leaving an inch or so of space for her to look through. The blade pointed directly at Sebastian. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To carry out my master’s wishes, of course,” Sebastian said back, a theatrical note of surprise in his voice. “It is a point of pride that I fulfill his wishes swiftly.”

Ellie forced the door open all the way and only fractionally lowered her Scythe. “Not by yourself, you’re not. Do you think I missed what your master said just now? ‘I don’t care how you do it.’ Knowing you, you’ll take that as an excuse to wreak whatever havoc you want. I’m not letting you go out and kill people, not while I’m in charge of you.”

“Why, Miss Howard, I’m hurt,” he said, sounding distinctly uninjured. “Do you really think so little of me that you imagine my only recourse is violence?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “As well you should. However, this time, I have something else in mind. It occurs to me that, over the course of our investigations, the young master discovered a female staffer who works as a sort of secretary for the church in question. He had planned to question her before your arrival.” His smile widened. “I do wonder if I could persuade her to share Father Fletcher’s itinerary with me.”

The implication was not lost on Ellie. Two red splotches colored her face—not from shame, but from rage. “There is no way, in this or any lifetime, that I am letting you rape someone just to gain information. It’s one thing for your master to willingly throw his life away for the sake of some empty promises, but it is quite another for you to destroy the peace of some random, unrelated woman just for your own enjoyment.”

This time, he looked genuinely affronted. “Who on earth said anything about rape? For all you know, she may be willing.” He chuckled, eyes flashing. “In fact, I believe that to be the most likely outcome.”

Ellie held up one finger. “First of all, butler, you’re not as attractive as you seem to think you are.”

“I rather think I am.”

“ _Second of all_ —” She put up another finger. “—no one would willingly consent to be with an actual demon. You, of course, will be withholding that information. So, by lying to a woman to fuck her, you are hampering her ability to give consent. To me, that’s rape.”

“…Am I to assume that you are not invited to social affairs very often?”

“Ha, ha. If you’ve got time to snark at me, then you’ve got time to think up another way of getting Fletcher’s itinerary. Because you’re going to bed alone tonight, and that’s my final say on the matter.”

“Ah, but it is not _your_ say that concerns me. After all, Miss Murray shall accompany me tonight, not you.”

She blinked. “Excuse me? What happened to not accepting anyone else minding you?”

“I am willing to make sacrifices for the safety of my young master. Of the two of you, I would rather you watch over him. After all, you have a vested interest in keeping Phantomhives safe, do you not?”

“We’ve been over this,” she growled. “The boy is not my problem. I’m under no obligation to look after him.”

“True enough, but what if something were to happen to him, all alone in this great house? A home invasion, a medical emergency, an overturned candle…the possibilities are endless.” His teeth seemed to lengthen as he smiled. “How do you imagine you would feel, if yet another Phantomhive died on your watch? If you could have prevented disaster, yet chose not to? Is an unknown woman truly more important than your own blood?”

“He’s not my blood,” Ellie retorted, but without much conviction. Sebastian waited, still sneering. “Burn in Heaven,” she said with venom at last, and then turned and called for Charlotte over her shoulder.

She came running immediately, her limp more pronounced. “What’s up?”

“Sebastian here doesn’t seem to like me anymore. He’s asked for your services personally.”

“Er, all right, then.” She beamed, unruffled. “Let’s get on with it, shall we? Don’t get too far ahead, though. I’m not at top speed just yet.” She patted her leg gingerly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Without another word, he turned and raced off into the night, hopping from roof to roof like a cricket.

Charlotte started to follow, but Ellie managed to grab her arm before she took off. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone, all right?” she said in a low voice. “Please, for my sake.”

She patted her shoulder a little too hard, making her wince. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten the Security protocols. I’ll keep him on a tight leash. You just make sure His Lordship back there doesn’t burn his tongue on his Darjeeling.” With a wink, she was off. Ellie stared off in the direction they had gone for a few minutes with her brow furrowed, and then retreated to the townhouse.

Ciel was still in his armchair, rifling through a stack of papers and making notes in a pocket journal on his lap. “Sticking around, are you?” he said after a perfunctory glance up at her. “Tired of my butler’s company already? I understand. I am, too.”

Ellie took the seat across from him, smiling in spite of herself. “When he gets back, would you order him to go fuck himself?”

“Absolutely not. However he chooses to interpret that, no one needs to see it.” Smirking a little, he returned to his papers. “You Reapers eat, do you not? You may help yourself to anything in the kitchen, though you’ll have to prepare it yourself since there are no other servants here. If you’re bored, there is a library on the second floor, albeit a paltry one compared to the collection in the manor.”

“Thank you, Milord. That’s very generous of you.” She did not move from her chair, though, contenting herself with staring into the fire and brooding over the events of the day. Where could the demon be hiding? How would she know it when she saw it? Why had it allied itself with a human priest? Above all, was it possible that she had been on the wrong track after all, and that it was this demon who had killed Martha, rather than Sebastian? _She knew her appearance, her speech, her mannerisms, even the cut of her wedding dress. Did she pull all that straight from my mind, or did she see it for herself all those years ago? But Sebastian…why would he behave as he does if he didn’t know me…?_

She didn’t know how much time had passed while she was thinking, but gradually, she became aware of a single blue eye fixed on her face. “Something I can help you with, Milord?”

Ciel started a little. He must have thought he was being subtle, Ellie thought with a smile. “Not at all. I was just thinking about something.” He turned back to his papers again. Ellie waited. After less than a minute, he looked up again and blurted out, “I was just wondering why you took your own life.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “And you thought you could read the answer somewhere in my face? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t written down anywhere.” Ciel said nothing, the tips of his ears a bright scarlet hue. Ellie looked back into the fire, choosing her words carefully. “From what I understand, you think people who take their own lives are weak. They’re running away from their problems instead of dealing with them, or else incapable of functioning as a normal member of society, is that right?”

The paper dropped a few inches, showing the top half of Ciel’s face. “Is that not the case?”

“Sometimes it is. There are as many reasons to die as there are reasons to live. I don’t know the full history of every one of my colleagues, but of the few stories I do know, I’ve never heard the same one twice.” She hesitated a moment before taking the plunge. “I guess you could call what I did running away, but it wasn’t because I was depressed or in pain. I did it to save myself from a worse fate.”

Ciel was now so interested that he set the papers on the table and gave her his full attention. “And what was that, exactly?”

Ellie needed another minute to gather herself before answering. “The demon today. I told you I couldn’t stop it because it took the form of my older sister. I watched her die, just a few minutes before I did. She didn’t just die, though—she was killed by a demon. It tore her to pieces, and then it devoured her soul. I saw the whole thing.” She closed her eyes, the scene playing before her again. Martha reaching out to her, screaming for her to run. Blood staining the walls of the master bedroom, spattering against her face. Victor’s cruel, high-pitched laughter. The red eyes turning to her…

“I see,” Ciel said quietly. His tone, too, had softened. “And the sight of your sister’s corpse drove you mad, is that it?”

Ellie chuckled. “Maybe, to some extent. I was certainly in despair, but more from guilt than grief. If only I had noticed the signs earlier and tried to help her, so she wouldn’t have fallen into the demon’s trap. If only I’d never given her cause to turn her back on God…” She fell silent a moment. Ciel waited for her patiently.

Her voice sounded very far away when she spoke again. “But the real reason I killed myself was so the demon wouldn’t kill me first. Martha’s soul wasn’t enough to sate its hunger, and the anguish I felt must have been mouth-watering to it.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice, and the brand on the back of her hand began to warm. “I had a gun with me. I brought it to fight him off before he could hurt Martha. Of course, bullets can’t harm demons, but they can harm humans. So, when the demon turned its gaze on me, I put the gun to my head a pulled the trigger. I hardly even thought about it. The only thing going through my mind was that I didn’t want to die the way my sister had.” She shrugged. “And here I am, still alive, after a fashion. I suppose some people might call that a victory.”

Ciel studied his steepled fingers, silent. Ellie watched him, her shoulders hunching with tension. Any second now, she expected him to mock her choice. After all, when he found himself staring into a demon’s maw, he hadn’t killed himself. He had (or so he thought) manipulated the demon into working for him, so he could eventually accept death with all his goals finished. He was strong and capable, and she wasn’t. Such a statement wouldn’t bother Ellie; she didn’t need the validation for her choice. All the same, hearing it from a know-it-all child would not be pleasant. That was all.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said instead. His voice was stiff, awkward, and sincere. “You must have loved your sister very much.” His lower lip trembled just once, and he hastily grabbed his papers to hide behind again.

“Thank you,” she answered, wracked with guilt. She had forgotten that he had lost a beloved sibling, too. A twin, at that. For all his coldness and cynicism, he was still just a grieving little boy underneath.

They didn’t speak again the rest of the night, but they didn’t feel a need to, either.

-

The party convened in front of St. Michael’s on Thursday afternoon, hours before Fletcher would make his move on his latest victim. Fletcher would be away from his church tonight, ministering to the members of his parish too sick to attend mass (which had to be a cover for his true agenda, targeting another child). The female staffer had said as much to Sebastian, with Charlotte looking on as a witness. Neither would say how Sebastian had gone about obtaining that information. Charlotte, fidgeting and pink, would only say that the staffer had not needed much persuasion. Ellie, disgusted, did not press for further details.

The staffer had also provided a list of the families to whom Fletcher had paid his personal visits. Ciel and Sebastian had spent two days going through them for likely victims. Most of the people on the list did not fit the profile—they were either childless, too wealthy, living outside of the demon’s hunting grounds, or had a solid reason for the spiritual consultation, such as anointing of the sick or grief counseling. However, there were two poor families with children the right age living in the correct area, the Abbotts and the Carmichaels. There was nothing to indicate that Fletcher favored one family over the other, or even which child he would pick, as several of them had only a year’s different in age.

There was nothing for it but to have Sebastian watch one family and Charlotte the other. Ellie didn’t like leaving Sebastian unsupervised, but there was no way to avoid it. If both of them watched one family, they would be too late to rescue a child from the other if Fletcher took them. Ellie herself couldn’t go with Sebastian, as she and Ciel would be exploring the passageway beneath the angel statue. For various reasons (mostly involving subtle threats from Sebastian), she did not want to leave him alone down there.

“It’s best that you make yourself invisible,” Ciel said to her outside the church doors. “If there is someone down there waiting to trap us, he would only take me, leaving you at liberty to rescue me.”

“Understood.” She had planned as much anyway, of course.

Ciel nodded and turned to Sebastian and Charlotte, who were waiting for their orders. Ellie noticed that the both of them were standing a full five feet away, unwilling to get any closer to the church. Sebastian looked paler than normal, but otherwise, he was as serene and professional as ever. Charlotte, meanwhile, looked slightly green and kept sneaking glances up at the spire. Without realizing it, she was rubbing her right forearm. Ellie guessed she was searching for the mark of the knife she had used to open her veins.

“Sebastian, this is an order,” Ciel began, pressing an index finger against his eyepatch. “Go to the Abbott household and watch over the family from a discreet distance. If Fletcher, or anyone else, attempts to abduct or harm one of the children, you will stop them without killing them. If the culprit goes to the Carmichael household instead, you will assist Charlotte in doing the same. Do I make myself clear?”

He knelt, one hand on his chest. “Yes, my lord.”

“You can count on us!” Charlotte said, giving him a double thumbs-up.

Ciel had already turned back to Ellie. “Stay close, and keep your weapon ready. I don’t mind getting captured for the sake of obtaining information, but I’d rather not run into any other sort of problem. So do your job properly, understood? Speak up the instant you see something.”

Ellie’s eye twitched. Who did this little brat think he was, giving her orders like she was just like Sebastian? To think that she had sympathized with him. “Right…”

Sebastian stood up and smiled at her. “Well then, Miss Howard, I leave the young master in your hands. I humbly request that you care for him as I would.” Before she could answer, he took off so quickly that it was though he had vanished into thin air. Charlotte darted after him, bawling at him to wait up.

“Little shit,” Ellie grumbled. She turned to Ciel, only to see that he was already slipping though the church’s back door. Cursing under her breath, she followed him.

Today, the church was empty. Ostensibly, there was supposed to be a deacon minding the place while Fletcher was away, but Ciel (through Sebastian) had paid him a hefty bribe to go get a drink at the pub while he was there, and to leave the back door unlocked while he was at it. The worshippers, too, were elsewhere, having no need of God at this late hour. Ciel crossed the floor, his heels and walking stick clacking loudly on the wooden floors. Ellie went silently in his wake.

As he approached the statue of St. Michael, Ciel’s eye narrowed to a slit, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. “The right wing, was it?” he asked in a low voice.

“That’s right. Downward.”

There was only the slightest hesitation before Ciel reached out and grasped the wing. His arm trembled a little as he pulled it down. As before, the statue clicked, whirred, and dragged itself back with a growl. The staircase was still there, leading down into darkness. Ciel had brought a lantern with him from his townhouse; he lit the candle inside by sharing some of the flame from the baptismal candle. Then, sharing a glance, they started down the steps, Ciel holding the lantern out in front of him and testing each step with his walking stick. Ellie had her Death Scythe in hand, the blade pointing up.

As they expected, the staircase led to a tunnel, six feet high and wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Ciel could stand up straight even with his top hat on, but Ellie had to bend over a little to fit. The dirt floor was worn and tattooed with footprints, and the walls had unlit torches mounted on them, so it was apparent that the tunnel was well-used. The air was cold, musty, and smelled of rat droppings. Ellie could hear rats scrabbling and squeaking somewhere in the dark, but they were hiding just beyond the edge of the lantern’s glow.

“Do you see anything?” Ciel whispered, barely moving his lips.

Ellie squinted down the hall, but there was nothing but darkness up ahead. “No. Not even the exit.”

“No people?”

“Just rats.”

To his credit, Ciel was unfazed. “Very well. Keep your weapon up.” He strode down the hallway without any reluctance, as though it were a crowded London street on a sunny afternoon. Ellie jogged after him.

They went down the tunnel in silence, scattering frightened rats and casting shadows on the wall. Ellie scanned all sides for hidden doors and potential attackers, but they were quite alone. They must have left the church far behind, but she could see crosses mounted on the wall every few feet, beneath the torch holders. Sebastian wouldn’t be able to help them even down here. That was fine by her. The further he stayed from the two of them, the better, as far as she was concerned. Ciel, though, seemed to feel his butler’s absence. His face and manner were neutral enough, but every once in a while, he would glance behind him and jump a little, as though he was surprised to find Ellie instead of Sebastian. Her heart twinged a little every time it happened.

At last, after about thirty minutes of brisk walking, the darkness around them lessened. A small pinprick of orange light appeared further down the tunnel, growing larger with every step. “Be on your guard,” Ciel hissed under his breath. “There may be people waiting for us down there.” Ellie lifted her Scythe and nodded. They slowed their pace as they approached the light source, so that their steps were silenced in the dirt.

Two feet from the end of the tunnel, Ciel stopped suddenly. Ellie had to scramble backward to avoid knocking him over. “What is it? An enemy?” She moved her Death Scythe to a ready position.

Ciel did not answer. He had started shaking, and there were strangled noises stuck in his throat. Ellie peered over his shoulder and saw that his face was snow-white and his eye was wide as a golf ball.

“What is it?” she asked again, but then she looked up and saw what Ciel was seeing.

The tunnel opened up into a wide, circular room like an atrium. Long tiers of benches loomed over a raised dais with a table atop it. The table had four chains and manacles fixed at the corners, and there was a large, brownish stain in the middle of it. Behind it, against the far wall, rusty cages littered the floor, encasing dirty straw and more ominous stains, but no occupants.

It took Ellie a second to recognize the scenery, but when she did, her heart stopped. This room was identical to the one from those cultists’ Cinematic Records, the one in which the newly summoned Sebastian had killed them. It was an altar for devil worshippers, perhaps the same devil worshippers that had tortured Ciel and his brother. That had to be the connection with the demon.

Beside her, Ciel let out a high-pitched, panicked scream. He fell to his knees and clutched his head, all dignity forgotten in the depths of his trauma. Ellie dropped to her knees beside him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, it’s all right!” she hissed. “It’s all right, now! This is different than before! You’re outside the cage now. You’re not alone.”

But Ciel only shook his head and screamed all the louder. In a sense, Ellie realized, he did consider himself alone. His brother wasn’t with him now. Sebastian was not here to save him. Only Death stood beside him. No wonder he screamed.

The two were so overcome by the scene before them that they didn’t hear the man sneaking up behind them until he lifted Ciel, still screaming, by the back of his collar.


	9. Sacrifice

“I knew I’d see you tonight, my lord,” Fletcher said with a blank, cold expression on his face. “You stuck your little nose everywhere else, so why not here? Thank goodness you arrived in time—it would be bothersome to invite another guest at the last minute.”

He dragged the struggling Ciel by the collar across the room. Ellie was right on his heels with her Scythe raised, ready the instant he tried to kill his captive. _“Not our problem,” is it? Not if I have anything to say about it_. She as startled to find herself thinking that way, but her conviction did not waver. And another thought, dark and heavy, began to form in her mind: _If I take his soul now, with Sebastian miles away…_

She expected Fletcher to chain the boy to his perverse altar, but apparently, that would come later (she had no doubt in her mind of this). Instead, he opened the rusty door of one of the cages and tossed Ciel inside like a rag doll. Ciel scrabbled to a crawling position, but before he could dart out, Fletcher slammed the door and locked it using a keyring from his belt.

“Now be a good boy and stay there,” Fletcher said, still with that horrible blank look on his face. “The others will be here before too long.”

Ciel wrapped his hands around the bars and bared his teeth at the priest like a wild animal. “You won’t get away with this!” His voice cracked, showing his fear.

“Scream all you like. No one can hear you down here.” Without another word, Fletcher turned around and left. Rather than the tunnel, he used a side door between a gap in the benches. Ellie smelled a hint of fresh air as the door opened and shut. They could escape that way, but Sebastian wouldn’t be able to come get them—there was a crucifix affixed to the door. No way out for him, and most likely not a way in, either. They were truly on their own.

It seemed, though, that Ciel hadn’t noticed this. Breathing hard, he ripped the patch off his eye and tossed it aside. For the first time, Ellie saw the Mark of the Covenant burned into his eye, glowing purple-red in the torchlight. Her own Mark pulsed as she stared at it.

Ciel opened his mouth, his lips dry and cracked. “Seb—”

“Are you sure about that?” Ellie interrupted with a raised voice. “Assuming he can get to you in here, you won’t get another chance to come back here and find out what Fletcher’s up to. The queen is expecting results, isn’t she?”

Slowly, Ciel’s mouth closed. A flicker of light returned to his eyes, but his cheeks remained bloodless.

Ellie leaned in close to the bars and lowered her voice, so that the boy had to focus to hear her. “The others may not be with you, but I am. I’ll let you out of the cage right now, if that’s what you want. Now, _is_ that what you, Earl Phantomhive and Queen’s Watchdog, want?”

The significance of those monikers was not lost on him. He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eye again, the mask was back up. He was his older brother again, rightful heir to House Phantomhive, capable of everything the younger, weaker son wasn’t. “Let’s wait for the time being. The true culprit may show its face.” His voice was tight but steady.

Ellie nodded. “As you wish, Milord.”

-

They waited in silence until nightfall. Ciel paced the cage like a wild animal, quiet and thoughtful. Ellie did not want to leave him alone, so she tried to gather as much information as she could while standing in place. Aside from what she had noticed initially, though, there was little to see. The room’s purpose was as obvious as it was devious: torture and death for the amusement of large audiences. Judging by the lengths of the chains on the altar, the victims were most likely all children. This had to have been what the demon’s prey experienced in the days leading up to their deaths, perhaps to “flavor” their souls to the demon’s taste. _But why would none of the children tell someone? Actually, why would Fletcher and his cult let them go in the first place and risk being discovered?_ Ellie couldn’t guess, but she knew she would find out soon enough.

After three hours passed, they heard the low rumble of footsteps issuing from the tunnel. The rumble gradually grew louder until three figures appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, walking all in a row. Another group of three walked behind them, followed by another, and another, until there were enough people to fill every seat in the room. Ellie lost count somewhere around a hundred. It was difficult to keep track of individuals, as each figure wore a black hooded cloak and a plain black half mask, and so was practically indistinguishable from his fellows. The outfits, Ellie remembered, were the same as those worn by the cultists who had tortured the Phantomhive twins. Perhaps they were of the same sect. Behind her, Ciel swayed on his feet and gripped the bars for support.

When all the hooded figures had taken their seats (no one speaking the entire time), the side door with the cross on it opened again. Another hooded figure stepped into the room, holding a curved knife upright in both hands. His cloak had a pattern of inky, leaping flames at the hem, and his half mask was white and marked with a pentagram at the forehead. He must have been the leader, which meant he had to be Fletcher.

Without breaking the heavy silence blanketing the room, Fletcher slowly marched across the room, the knifepoint unwavering. As he reached the cage, he transferred the knife to his right hand, pulled a key out of the folds of his cloak, and unlocked the cage. Ellie could feel Ciel’s fear radiating off him in waves, but he held his head high and looked Fletcher straight in the eye.

When the door opened, Fletcher pocketed the key, reached inside the cage, and grabbed Ciel by the collar, as before. The boy’s eye narrowed, but he said nothing. It was only when Fletcher dragged him to the altar that he looked back at Ellie, a trace of panic in his eyes. Ellie gestured to Fletcher with her Death Scythe, one eyebrow raised. After a moment’s desperate thought, he subtly shook his head and looked away.

Once they had climbed the dais, Fletcher put the knife down and lifted Ciel onto the altar. He pushed Ciel’s shoulders until he lay flat on his back, then manacled his limbs one by one. Ciel’s pallor was now corpselike and his forehead dripping sweat, but he still managed to shoot Fletcher a look of such aristocratic contempt that Ellie had to bite back a laugh.

When his captive was secure, Fletcher raised his arms and addressed his audience. “Brethren, be welcome,” he intoned, not even bothering to hide his voice. “Once more, we gather to witness the coming of the king. Tonight, at long last, your patience will be rewarded, for we have gathered a worthy sacrifice in the Queen’s Watchdog.” The crowd murmured their approval, and Ciel shot Fletcher a murderous glare. “Such a soul, seeped in evil as it is, should be more than enough to satisfy our king’s hunger. Then, finally, his noble disciples shall receive his innumerable blessings.” The crowd applauded more enthusiastically.

Ellie nodded to herself. So that was it. This cult of demon-worshippers was trying to forge a contract with this rogue hellion. The dead children were meant to be the “sacrifices” given in exchange for power, riches, and all the usual rewards. Except those dainty morsels had not been enough to tempt the demon’s appetite at the time. The cult was forced to let the children go, only for the demon to change its mind once the children’s despair and terror marinated their souls properly. _But did the cult predict that would happen? I don’t see how they could have known before the first victim died, but why else would they let the children go and risk discovery?_

The answer was forthcoming. As the crowd’s cheers subsided into low, rhythmic chants, Fletcher reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a scarlet handkerchief. There was a damp spot in the middle of the cloth, and Ellie’s sensitive nose caught the whiff of chloroform before Fletcher pressed it against Ciel’s nose and mouth. The boy went under almost immediately, without a struggle. In fact, his drooping eye gave Ellie a look of triumph before it closed. Ellie could follow his logic: if the idea was that the demon was taking the souls of the children on the table, then Ciel was perfectly safe. No demon, no matter how ravenous, would risk their own life by taking a soul that another demon had claimed. Even if this one did, then crucifix or no crucifix, Sebastian would take matters into his own hands. Perhaps, if he did, both demons would die, and the issue of Ellie’s vengeance might be resolved tonight, with her hardly needing to take action.

Idly pondering if she would be satisfied with such a conclusion, Ellie kept a close eye on Fletcher’s movements, her Death Scythe poised to swing. Her grip on the weapon tightened as the priest brandished his knife, then relaxed as he gently drew the blade across Ciel’s left palm. _No need to waste more than that. The diner would complain._ The chanting grew louder as a few drops of blood dribbled onto the floor. For the first time, Ellie noticed the pattern engraved on the dais beneath the altar. It was in the shape of the Mark of the Covenant, an identical twin to the brand on Ciel’s eye. Her own Mark twinged.

As the first drop of blood hit the engraving, the manmade Mark glowed scarlet. The torches on the walls flickered and died. The room’s temperature dropped suddenly; Ellie breathed out and saw vapor. Fletcher lifted his arms and tilted his head back, looking like the god he claimed to serve in the world above. The chanting rose to a fever pitch, then died away. A low rumble replaced it, like approaching thunder—or a snarling beast.

_This can’t be possible. There’s a church above us. The doors are marked. There’s no way a demon would go through them willingly. This soul can’t possibly be worth it._

Evidently, though, the demon did not have to go through the door. A shifting cloud of smoke and shadows appeared above the top row of bleachers on the north side of the room. Beneath it, one of the hooded worshippers collapsed face-first onto the floor. No one paid him any attention. _The demon must have possessed him_ , the rational part of Ellie’s mind realized. _It used his body as a shield._ The rest of her mind was flooded with adrenaline and seared with the image of a fanged and red-eyed Martha in her wedding dress.

Though the air was heavy and stagnant, the cloud drifted across the room as though carried by a light breeze. It circled above the altar, vulture-like, then dropped down until it was hovering just above Ciel’s prone body. _It wouldn’t dare_ , Ellie thought, but then she saw a tendril of smoke reach out to Ciel’s throat. The cloud took the vaporous shape of a woman, and the tendril became a clawed hand. Two red eyes formed in the woman’s head, dancing with mirth and greed. The Mark, apparently, meant nothing to this demon. It truly was growing feral.

Combat instinct and muscle memory took over. Before she even realized that she was moving, Ellie charged forward and sliced through the cloud, the blade of her Scythe “severing” the neck. The demon howled, not so much pained as surprised. Ellie jumped up onto the altar and spun around to face the demon, straddling Ciel’s body.

“Forget about something?” she said with a smile. “You left without saying good-bye earlier.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed, and its lips curled back to reveal as much of its fangs as possible. “You again, Reaper?” it spat in contempt. “Don’t you know when to quit?” Before, in the alley, its voice had been arrogant and mocking. Now, though, there was a tightness in it, and its pitch had raised slightly. Its eyes never left her, but as Ellie watched, more eyes blossomed all over its body, darting wildly about in search of an escape route. It was trapped with a vengeful Reaper in a room with a cross on one exit and a church above the other, and it knew it, and it was terrified.

Ellie saw this and exulted. “Why would I? You’re the one who ran away like a frightened rabbit.” She took a step forward, bringing the blade closer to the demon’s throat without creating an opening for an attack on Ciel. “Now, remind me where exactly we left off. Something about my sister, right?”

She expected the demon to take Martha’s form again, or else try some other method of testing her resolve, but it did no such thing. Perhaps it was too scared. With a roar that was almost a shriek, the demon lashed out with one clawed hand. Reflexes alone saved Ellie from injury. Without thinking, she swung her Scythe and severed the hand at the wrist. The demon let out a scream that shook the ground. The lost appendage started to fall, but disappeared in a cloud of vapor before it hit the floor. Black blood, hot and reeking, spurted from the wound and doused the altar, steaming where it fell. A few drops splashed onto Ciel’s boot. The leg spasmed and the boy grimaced, but he didn’t wake up.

Allowing herself only half a second of triumph, Ellie brought her scythe back around and started to deliver a backhand swing. The blade was less than an inch from the demon’s neck when Ellie froze. The grim, set look on her face fell away, replaced by wide-eyed shock. A single thin tendril of Cinematic Record snaked out of the demon’s stump. Even without touching it or moving for a closer look, Ellie could see one image burned into the film, clear as a beacon on a stormy shore. It was her own face, white and panicked, without her standard-issue spectacles. Her human face. There was only one demon who had known her as a human.

_It’s him. It’s Victor. It’s Victor._

For a moment, Ellie could only gape at the Record, her face a perfect blank. Then, as though someone had flipped a switch, she sprang back to life, her face morphing into a snarl of her own and her cheeks flooding with an angry flush. Howling in inarticulate rage, all her training forgotten, she charged forward, swinging her scythe with wild abandon. There were tears budding in her eyes, though she did not realize it.

But one cut was all it had taken for the demon to learn its lesson. Before Ellie could strike again, it melted into a smoke cloud and disappeared into empty air. Ellie skittered to a halt and glanced around the room, breathing like a winded plough horse. She had forgotten about the cultists as soon as the demon appeared, but they had not sat idly by. They may not have been able to see Ellie, or perhaps even the demon, but their souls must have known instinctively of the danger. All of them rose and ran screaming out of both exits, trampling and crashing into each other in their desperation to escape. The demon disappeared into that black mass of bodies, no doubt possessing one in order to escape through the sanctified doors. With the cultists’ masks and long cloaks, it was impossible to tell which of them was the unlucky host.

“Coward!” Ellie screamed. “Get back here and die like Martha!” There was, of course, no reply. Not a single one of the cultists turned or even slowed. Growling in frustration, Ellie leapt off the dais, Scythe at the ready. She would just have to cut all the cultists until she found the one who was hiding Victor. It would only take a little cut—

As she started to swing, however, something caught onto the handle and pulled it back, almost wrenching it out of her grasp. She spun around, one hand dropping to the dagger at her waist, but stopped short. Ronald Knox had her Scythe in both hands, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead from the effort of holding it back. His own Death Scythe lay on its side a few feet away, as though he had upended it in his haste to reach her.

“Whoa, take it easy!” he said, digging his heels into the floor. “Take it easy, okay? It’s gone.”

She yanked on the Scythe with all her strength, but Ronald only staggered a few steps and kept his grip as tight as ever. “No, it isn’t! It’s possessed one of those hooded freaks, and if I could just get to it—”

The look of horror on Ronald’s face shut her up, and almost instantly, the reality of her situation crashed down on her. If she took her Scythe to any of those men and accidentally killed them, she would be guilty of harvesting souls not yet on the To-Die List—murder, simply put. Grell had done the same thing, and now she was under house arrest, having only narrowly avoided a sentence of termination. And that was only because William T. Spears, amazingly enough, had put in a good word for her with the Disciplinary Committee. Cartwright had explicitly said that he would not do the same.

She forced herself to take several deep breaths and felt the blaze of her anger smolder into something more manageable. Ronald was still staring at her, his eyes wary and hurt. Ellie grasped feebly for an excuse, anything she could use as a token defense. “I…I saw which one the demon possessed. I saw his eyes change color, just for a second as he was running. I was going to jump in front of him and try to scare the demon out. That’s all.” She tried to smile reassuringly; she didn’t even want to think about what her expression actually looked like.

To her astonishment, Ronald’s shoulders slumped a little, and some of the shock left his face. “Yeah? Well, uh, that’s okay, then. That makes sense.” He let out a high-pitched little giggle and grinned at her. The smile was far from natural, but it had to be better than whatever she had on her own face. “But, you know, uh, that was kind of a wide swing you were going for. I’m no expert, but it kinda looked like you would’ve hit the guy next to him if you followed through. Or, um, you would’ve hit the actual guy too hard.” He let go of the Scythe and held up his hands and shook them slightly in a _no-way_ sort of gesture. “Not that I’m an expert, though! I, uh, probably misjudged it, or something. Right, Ellie?”

“Absolutely,” Ellie answered immediately. “I had it completely under control. A swing like that would have just given him a little paper cut. You were mistaken.”

“Aw, man. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” They fell into an awkward, suggestive silence.

Rattled as she was, though, Ellie roused herself before too long. “Um, the demon—”

“Already gone,” Ronald said too quickly. “I told you. Half of those guys are already dead by now, and it won’t be much longer before they all drop. The demon would’ve jumped ship as soon as the heart stopped, right?”

Ellie blinked. “Dead? What, did they all have simultaneous heart attacks out of fear?”

Ronald gave a small, quick smile. “Nah, that would’ve been too easy. Sebbykins is going to town out there. Charlotte’s keeping an eye on him, so, uh, you can stay here for a bit if you want to. If, you know, you need a minute.” He fidgeted, not looking at her.

She opened her mouth to tell him about Victor, thought better of it, and tried to smile again. “I think I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He went back to his own Death Scythe, righted it, and revved the motor. “Oh, hey, um…I saw some of that. Back when I was—” He gestured toward the dead cultist in the top row of seats. “That was really him, huh? The guy that killed your sister?”

“I’m positive.”

“Wow…well, if I see him, I’ll give him what for.” He flashed a confident win.

“Thanks, Ronald.” She didn’t bother telling him that Victor’s death would mean nothing if she didn’t cause it herself.

Ronald hopped on the back of his Scythe, revved the engine again, and zoomed out the door. Alone with the corpse and the sleeping boy, Ellie stood in place with her fists clenched and her eyes downcast. She did not cry, scream, or curse. Her mind raced, but her body was tense and still.

After an indeterminable amount of time like that, she remembered Ciel. Stiffly, she walked back to the altar and examined him. He was still in a deep sleep, which would probably go on for a while longer. He had inhaled a large dose, after all, and he was young and skinny. Struggling to control her trembling hands, Ellie used her Scythe to cut the chains as close to the skin as possible. She didn’t trust herself to slice through the manacles without hurting him, so she left them for Sebastian to handle. Then she lifted the boy like a baby and carried him out of the chamber, pausing only long enough to make herself visible to anyone who happened to look. A woman in trousers would be a far less odd sight than a boy floating in midair.

Beyond the door with the crucifix was yet another passage, but judging by the improved lighting and the fresh air wafting through it, it was much shorter than the one beneath the angel statue. They had gone about fifty feet before Ellie spotted a huddled mass lying on the ground. It was one of the cultists, a look of terror only partially obscured by his mask. A carving knife was buried in his forehead; Ellie was not surprised to see the Phantomhive crest on the handle. Scowling, she skirted around the corpse, only to find another just a few feet away, and another, and another, each with Sebastian’s calling card sticking out of their heads. By the time she reached the final door, the bodies were piled up on top of each other, and she had to hike over them to get outside.

Sebastian was waiting for them in the alley where the passage opened, a fistful of cutlery at the ready. When saw his unconscious master, he slipped the cutlery up his sleeve and dashed across the street to them. His already pale face grew two shades whiter as he approached the church’s connecting tunnel, but he did not falter or turn back. His master’s preservation took priority over his own.

“He’s fine,” Ellie said. “Fletcher drugged him, but that should wear off in a few hours. He’s not hurt at all otherwise.” She hesitated, then placed Ciel in his butler’s outstretched arms.

With one hand, Sebastian split and pulled off the manacles on Ciel’s wrists and ankles. His property thus restored, he turned back to Ellie and bowed his head in appreciation. “Thank you for taking care of the young master in my absence. I am relieved to see that my trust in you was not misplaced.” His eyes glinted as he spoke.

Ellie wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I take it this is your handiwork?” She gestured to the mountain of corpses in the tunnel. A few had spilled out onto the road, where Ronald was conducting examinations and whistling with some strain. Charlotte was there, too, picking forks and knives out of the bodies. “I suppose you didn’t leave one alive for the official channels to question?” Ellie went on in scorn.

In response, Sebastian smiled and nodded over his shoulder at a figure slumped against the far wall. It was an unconscious Fletcher, bound with tight cords and gagged with a torn scrap of his cloak. His hood and mask were gone. A white card hung around his neck by another cord, bearing the legend, “Compliments of the Queen’s Watchdog.”

“Ah. And you’re planning on having him take the blame for the child murders.”

“Indeed. Of course, if you are unable to subdue the true culprit on your own, I am sure the young master would be more than happy to lend assistance.”

She would have happily risen to the bait, but she had something even more upsetting to say. “Yeah. Listen, um, I owe you an—an apology.” Sebastian blinked, for once not smiling. Ellie swallowed and continued. “I saw that other demon’s Cinematic Record. That one was definitely V—the demon who killed my sister. Not you.” She ducked her head. “I’m sorry that my assumption cause you trouble.”

When she looked up, she saw a look of polite interest on Sebastian’s face. “Is that so? Well, I congratulate you on your astronomical luck in discovering it. I hope you are able to satisfy your thirst for vengeance before long.”

“Right. Cheers.” She shook herself a little. “And obviously, if you cause any trouble with my work, I’ll still—”

“I should expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my young master is in need of attention.” He bowed his head again, retrieved the family silver from Charlotte, and disappeared into the night, leaving Ellie feeling far worse than she had before.


	10. Body and Blood

The following Sunday found Ellie in Grell’s flat, letting Grell use her as a dress-up doll. It was late afternoon, and the dormitory was quiet, with most of the occupants still on the job. Ellie, too high-strung to think about anything other than the child killings, was taking advantage of her untouched store of personal leave. Charlotte was in the field, looking for the demon. One of the potential victims she had surveilled, Mary Carmichael, was scheduled to die as a result of a carriage accident, so it was likely the demon would attack.

“I’ll give you a call as soon as I get back,” Charlotte promised before stepping on the shuttle to the Gates. Ellie had come with her in the vain hope that someone might come running with a message from Cartwright saying yes, she could go along after all. “There shouldn’t be any problem, though. You probably scared that demon so badly that it’s halfway to Russia by now.

Ellie gave her a strained smile. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” There had been genuine terror on the demon’s face down in the chamber. She had never thought Victor could be so cowardly; before, when he was contracted with Martha, he had always seemed cool and confident. Of course, the circumstances were different now; Ellie was no longer a helpless stepping stone to a meal, but a genuine threat to Victor’s life. Fear was only natural in that sense.

Charlotte sighed and looked over at her new partner. Management must have shared her confidence, for they had assigned her to a fresh-faced rookie on his first job since graduating the Academy. The rookie, wielding a shovel-like Scythe, looked too tense and anxious to move effectively in a fight.

“Still, danger or otherwise, I can’t believe they stuck me with babysitting duty,” she grumbled under her breath. “I wish you were less honest, Ellie. Then you could’ve gone with me again.”

“Me, too.” Anticipating how Ronald would respond to their meeting, she had included her glimpse of the demon’s Cinematic Record in her after-action report. She had left out the fact that she had almost willfully killed an innocent bystander, and thankfully, Ronald appeared to have done the same. Regardless, Cartwright had reassigned her back to Phantomhive watch. Her hope had been that Ciel would continue to work on the case, but he appeared to be satisfied with his human scapegoat and returned to the manor. There were no deaths scheduled in that area today, so Ellie had filed for leave in disgust. Cartwright granted the request immediately, perhaps a testament to how unproductive she was being.

Left with nothing to do, she paid a visit to Grell and vented her frustrations. Grell was sympathetic, given her history in human affairs. She let Ellie rant on and on for hours, interrupting only with commiserating noises and squeals of delight over whatever outfit she was modeling. Encouraged by the lack of judgment, Ellie even disclosed her full encounter with Victor in the chamber. 

At that, Grell was silent for so long that Ellie began to feel nervous. Grell let out a heavy sigh and picked at the fabric of the dress Ellie was wearing, a low-cut scarlet frock that made her feel like a whore. “Red really isn’t your color, is it?” she said with regret. “I knew it as soon as you tried on my first-date gown.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, deflating a little. “Then why exactly did you dress me up with half your wardrobe?”

“Aah, aah, aah.” She waggled a finger in chastisement. “You can’t judge one outfit with the standards of another. Each is unique, with its own color and personality.”

Ellie glanced at the bed, on which were strewn dresses and blouses the exact same shade of red as the dress she currently wore. “Uh-huh.”

Grell sighed again. “Oh, well. I suppose you’re doomed to a life of mediocre fashion. Turn ‘round, I’ll unzip you.” She waited until Ellie was fully dressed in her own clothes before continuing. “I thought you said your lover was male. How could he look like your sister, then?”

“Don’t call him my lover,” she answered with pink cheeks. “And demons aren’t bound by physical forms. He just happened to turn himself into my sister as a way to throw me off. He could take any other shape he wants, male, female, whatever.”

“Ooh, scandalous.” She flopped down on her bed, wrinkling her discarded clothes. “But you’re  _ really _ sure that was your man? You don’t think you made a teeny tiny mistake?”

Her fists clenched. “He is  _ not  _ my man. And I don’t see how else he could’ve seen my human faces up close.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true.” She lay down and put her arms behind her head to prop it up. Ellie sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to her friend. “Ex or no ex, though, it was awfully rude of Management to pass your case on to some baby-faced newbie for no good reason. I mean, just look at all the progress you made!”

“Technically, it wasn’t ever my case,” Ellie pointe out with a wry smile. “It was Charlotte’s. She just requested me specifically for backup.”

Grell waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. From the sound of it, you did practically all the work. You’re the one who went down that dreadful tunnel. What did Charlotte do? Hurt her leg and collect forks?”

Her smile widened. “Hey, come on. Charlotte has a thing with churches, apparently, so I didn’t mind covering for her there.”

She snorted. “What, does she think she’ll burst into flames as soon as she crosses the threshold?”

“She used to live in a nunnery, so it probably brings up a lot of bad memories for her. I can understand that, so—what’s so funny?” Grell had burst into laughter, rolling around on the bed and clutching her stomach.

It took a few minutes for her to regain control over herself. She sat up and wiped her streaming eyes. “Hee-hee, sorry, darling. I just couldn’t help myself, it was so funny.”

“What was?”

“The idea of Charlotte being a nun. Oh, no. Charlotte was a prostitute, which I believe is the exact opposite of a nun.” She giggled.

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No, she wasn’t. She told me that she was a nun.”

“And she told  _ me  _ that she was a prostitute. Her first day in Collections, I started chatting with her, just to get to know her—”

“And to make sure she knows not to steal your boyfriends, right?” 

“Well, of course, that, too. Anyway, I asked her if she had a boyfriend of her own, and she said that she wasn’t really used to the whole committed-relationship thing since she was a whore when she was alive. Let me tell you, I’ve kept a close eye on her ever since. Thank goodness my Will likes subtler girls.” She hugged herself again, blissful in ignorance.

Ellie frowned. “Huh. Why did she lie to me, then? And why didn’t she want to go in the church?”

“Who knows? Maybe she just really didn’t want to go in the tunnel. Can’t blame her for that. It certainly wasn’t because she was self-conscious, the little trollop.” She sniffed in disdain. “Speaking of churches, though, at least she won’t have to deal with any more of them. Sounds like my Sebbykins put a stop to that murder-cult for good and all, so that other demon will have to find some other butcher to prepare his food for him.”

Still mulling over Charlotte’s lie, Ellie answered absently, only half paying attention. “The demon killed the kids itself. The cult just frightened them enough to wreck their emotional states and make them more appetizing.”

“Are you sure? No rogue psycho went and killed the kids to keep them quiet?”

“No, they wouldn’t have bothered drugging them otherwise. The kids were supposed to—” She broke off as something suddenly clicked in her brain. Her eyes widened, and her face drained of color.

Grell tapped her shoulder. “What? They were supposed to what?”

Ellie ignored her, lost in realization. The kids had been killed by the demon, not by the cultists. That much was true. Nevertheless, their names had all been on the To-Die List. Hundreds and hundreds of people died in London every day, and yet somehow, the cult had managed to select five children that had less than a week to live at the time. What’s more, the exact causes of death were different for each child, but only one was dying of illness. The rest were all freak accidents. There was no way anyone could have known that ahead of time, and the odds of it being a coincidence were astronomical. 

Except there was a link between the children’s deaths, one that Ellie hadn’t picked up on and that Ciel could never imagine. All five of their souls were supposed to be collected by Charlotte.

Charlotte, the only one before Ellie who had ever seen the demon. Charlotte, who would not step foot in a church. Charlotte, who was never in the same place as the demon and always showed up right after it disappeared. 

Ellie stood up suddenly. “Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . Call Cartwright for me. Tell him he needs to let me through the Gates to wherever Mary Carmichael is supposed to die. Fuck me, what a mess.” She stumbled toward the door, pausing only long enough to grab her Death Scythe from where it leaned against the wall. 

Grell sat up, pouting. “What’s a mess? What’s going on?”

Unable to stop, she called back over her shoulder. “It’s Charlotte. Charlotte’s the one that the demon possessed.”

-

For once, there were no difficulties. The shuttle was on time and moving at a good clip. When the porter saw her running up from the stop, he fiddled with his controls and opened the Gates without her even having to open her mouth.

“Young Cartwright says the examination is set for six o’clock near Whitechapel,” he called out to her. “Bring Murray back alive, if you can.”

Ellie raised a hand in acknowledgment, but in her heart, she already knew that wouldn’t be possible. Charlotte had been possessed more or less continuously for over a month; her mind and soul had to be all but destroyed by now. The kindest thing Ellie could do for her would be to put her out of her misery—and to ensure the monster who did this to her suffered the consequences. 

Whatever glitch was screwing up the Gates, it was merciful today. She landed exactly where she needed to be, in Whitechapel just outside of Mary Carmichael’s house. There were twenty minutes to go before the girl would unknowingly run out in front of a carriage. Ellie glanced around and spotted two figures milling about atop a nearby roof. She was already running over to them, Scythe in hand, before her brain registered that she had arrived in time. The rookie Security officer, Ernest Blackwell, was alive and unharmed, pacing back and forth with one eye on the Carmichael’s door. Charlotte was rifling through the To-Die List nearby, looking for all the world like an ordinary Reaper doing her job properly.

Both of them jumped as Ellie landed on the edge of the roof, and Charlotte was so surprised that she dropped her notebook. “Ellie! Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.” She bent down and picked up the notebook, eyeing the raised Scythe warily. Ellie hastily lowered it. “What are you doing here? Did you sneak out again?”

Ellie was relieved to hear that her voice sounded ordinary and casual. “Not this time. We’ve got a situation.” She turned to Blackwell, who blushed and fidgeted at a senior officer’s attention. “You’ve been trained in examining and collecting souls, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good, then you’re in charge of collecting Mary Carmichael. Captain’s orders.”

His face drained of color. “Huh? By myself? What about the demon? Uh, ma’am.”

“The demon changed course. It won’t be anywhere near here.” She turned to a bewildered Charlotte. “You and I are going to cut it off and take care of it once and for all. Captain said not to come back until we did.” 

Charlotte looked uncertain for a moment, but she kept in character and grinned at the prospect of exterminating her nemesis. “All right, works for me. Ernest, make sure you call for backup if you have any trouble. I think those pigeons over there are part of the Communication Department’s flock.” Blackwell saluted and stammered an affirmative. 

Ellie nodded. “Great, then let’s go.” She raced off, dragging Charlotte behind her by the forearm. Charlotte yelped and protested, but she did not relax her grip. Victor would not escape her this time.

As they approached the Church of St. Michael, Charlotte redoubled her objections and dug in her heels. Ellie grit her teeth, tightened her grip, and all but carried her up to the church’s rooftop. The old and ill-maintained slats creaked in protest as they landed hard on them. Ellie hesitated a moment before letting go of Charlotte’s arm, but the demon remembered itself and did not run. Already, Charlotte’s face had gone a shade or two greener than it had in Whitechapel.

She let out a low moan. “Come on, Ellie, why do we have to wait here? I told you, churches give me the creeps.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away. Her three-pronged Death Scythe dangled from her belt. Ellie’s own Scythe was in her hand, held casually down at her side, but ready for use at a millisecond’s notice. She prayed that none of the tension she felt showed on her face or in her arm.

“You did mention that, didn’t you?” She paused, considering her plan of attack carefully. “Remind me why that is again?”

Charlotte let out a little sigh of frustration. “I was a novice in a priory back when I was still alive. Being around churches bring back bad memories.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes! Now can we please go?”

“In a minute.” She looked straight into Charlotte’s eyes. “First, I’d like you to explain to me why you told Grell you were a prostitute.”

Charlotte blinked, and her shoulders twitched into a small hunch. “Excuse me?”

“I was with Grell a little while ago,” Ellie said, tightening her grip on her Scythe. “She said you two were getting to know each other your first day in Collections, and that you told her that you had been a prostitute before.” Her eyes narrowed. “So, you lied to one of us. I’m guessing it was me, given that you haven’t told me the truth once since this whole goddamned thing started.”

“What are you talking about? I never lied to you!”

“No?” She nodded at Charlotte’s leg, which she was still favoring a little. “How’d you hurt your leg?”

“The demon slashed me after it took Annie Blount’s soul. You were there, remember?” A note of defensiveness crept into her voice, and though her arms were still crossed over her chest, her hands were balling into fists. That was good. The angrier the demon became, the clumsier it would get. 

“I was there when you came back with the wound,” Ellie pointed out, “but I don’t remember ever seeing the demon that day. In fact, before I found the passageway here, I don’t think  _ anyone  _ except for you.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I made the whole thing up? Forensics found evidence of demonic activity at every death scene. How could I fake that? And where did the souls of those children go, if not into a demon’s belly?”

Ellie shook her head. “I’m not saying there wasn’t a demon at all. I’m saying that no one, at any point, has seen both you and the demon in the same place at the same time.” Charlotte opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. What little color was left in her face drained away. Before she could find her voice, Ellie pressed her advantage. “You know what I think, Charlotte? I think you stabbed yourself with your own Death Scythe to make it look like you and the demon got into the fight. Just to keep the charade going.”

“That’s not—”

“And you’re not avoiding the church because you hate them, right? You’re avoiding it because you physically can’t enter it.”

“Wait a—”

Before she could finish her protests, Ellie flicked her Death Scythe up and rested the blade against Charlotte’s throat. The latter froze, but the pressure was enough to send a narrow red rivulet down her neck. “Charlotte still had some control when this whole thing started,” Ellie said in a low, calm voice. “She could’ve picked anyone to back her up on this farce of a case, but she picked me. And the day you killed Annie Blount, when you took over her body for good, she screamed for me to help her.” Her face spasmed in pain. “Well, better late than never, as they say. Get the fuck out of my friend, or I’ll carve you out.” She pressed her Scythe harder against Charlotte’s neck, and the rivulet widened.

The thing in Charlotte’s body stared at her, wide-eyed and blank. A crazed rictus, unnaturally wide, split her face. This time, Ellie saw the glistening fangs and glowing eyes. “You should have answered her the first time,” the demon said, on the verge of laughter. “Maybe then, you could have saved her life, if not her mind. But you’re too late now. There’s nothing left. I am the only thing keeping her functioning. If I go, she dies.”

Her heart sank, but her face remained composed. She had expected as much, after all. “Fair enough, but we still need to discuss the little matter of my dead sister.”

They were still only a heartbeat longer. Ellie drew back her arm for a killing blow, and in that millisecond, the demon leaped back and started to sink into the shadows and escape. But the demon was injured and hungry, and Ellie was furious. The Scythe didn’t hit its target head-on, but it did leave a shallow gash in Charlotte’s leg. As the demon howled, blood and Record strips poured from the wound together. Once again, Ellie saw her own face, frightened and free of spectacles, reflected in the demon’s memories. 

Except there was something wrong. There was something that didn’t look right, but Ellie couldn’t put her finger on it. As she tried to figure it out, the face dropped out of the picture. There were a couple still frames, too blurry to have any meaning, and then the Ellie’s face returned, annoyed and bespectacled. In that same moment, the realization hit Ellie like a bullet. The face in the Cinematic Record had yellow-green eyes, not blue. It was not a human’s face, but a Reaper’s.

This scene wasn’t from the night Victor killed Martha. It was from a few days ago, after Charlotte had bumped into her and knocked her glasses off.

_ Then…is this not—? _

A searing pain burned away her thoughts. The demon had taken advantage of her distraction, and the body it was hiding in. It had brandished Charlotte’s own Death Scythe and stabbed Ellie in the stomach. The three tines left ragged furrows in her torso as the demon slice up toward her chest.

Her own Record unfurled, and from the memories she saw dancing before her fading vision, Ellie knew the cuts were dangerously deep. 


	11. 30 June, 1849

There were no lamps lit in the Phantomhive manor. The windows were dark and cold, the grounds deserted, the forest silent. Still, the fresh horseshoe-prints and carriage-tracks that Ellie had followed from London, hardly more than a few hours old, went right up to the front door. There were two white rose petals, the kind that Martha had always wanted in her wedding bouquet, littering the front stoop. That was all the evidence she needed to confirm the suspicion Claudia had shared in her letter. The Watchdog and his bride had eloped at home.

Everyone was ostensibly in the London townhouse for the season, but there had to be a skeleton crew of servants around to get the house back in order in case their masters unexpectedly returned. If she was lucky, the one who answered the door would let her buy her way inside with the coins in her pouch. If she was unlucky, she would need to bring out Claudia’s pistol. Not to use it, of course. She couldn’t afford to waste even a single one of the bullets meant for Victor. She would just scare them a little, just enough to get over the threshold.

Seeking discretion, Ellie wheeled her horse about and cantered around to the back of the manor, where the servants’ entrance was. She had found the dapple gray gelding tied to a post outside a public house not far from Undertaker’s mortuary. Before all this, she would have balked at the idea of stealing so much as a hat pin. Now, she had no choice. It was thirty miles from London to the Phantomhive estate, and with her dwindling funds, she couldn’t afford a coach. She had simply walked, pale-cheeked, up to the animal, untied it, mounted it, and rode it away. No one had stopped her, and the horse was placid and obedient.

Galloping as much as possible, they had made it in a little over two hours. The horse was neither young nor a racer. Its flanks, dripping with lather, heaved as it caught its breath. Ellie rode it over to a grassy patch, then dismounted, patted it on the neck, and turned it loose to graze. Her pistol was in hand, but she kept it hidden in the folds of her cloak as she approached the servants’ entrance. She took a deep breath, then banged on the door with her free fist.

After thirty seconds or so, the door opened with a hesitant creak, and a familiar face peeked out. It was Tanaka, one of the footmen. Ellie’s shoulders sagged in relief. Though Tanaka was fairly young still, he was a skilled practitioner of Japanese swordsmanship. He taught this style to Claudia and had tried in vain to teach Ellie basic fencing, as befitted the wife of the Queen’s Watchdog. Out of all the Phantomhive staff, he would be the most sympathetic to her.

His eyes widened when he saw her, but he kept his posture professional. “Lady Eleanor? I’m surprised to see you at this time of night. Is everything all right?”

His honest concern, the first she had felt in days, brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away and swallowed. “No. No, everything is not all right. I need to speak to Lord Jasper immediately.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. My master and mistress are at their house in town—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Ellie snapped. Tanaka flinched, so she forced herself to take a deep breath and speak normally. “Lady Claudia informed me that Lord Jasper left the townhouse this morning, and that my sister went with him. It is her belief, and mine, that the two of them returned here to elope. Is that not the case?”

Tanaka stood silent and stone-faced.

The hand holding the pistol twitched in reflex, but Ellie kept her arm under her cloak. “Tanaka, please. Trust me when I say that this is a matter of life and death. If you value the lives of your master and mistress, you must let me inside.”

Ever the proper servant, Tanaka did not drop his façade, but Ellie could tell he had interpreted her the wrong way. “My lady, I am sorry for what has happened between you and my master, but I am afraid that I cannot let you in. To be quite frank, you look—you do not look as though you would benefit from such an invitation.”

He had been about to say some variation of “hysterical.” Ellie couldn’t blame him. If she looked half as bad as she felt, it was a wonder she had not been carted off to Bedlam. It was looking as though she would have to force her way in. _Once more. One more try, and then I use the pistol._

“Tanaka,” she said quietly, “I will swear on whatever you like that I am not here to harm Lord Jasper or my sister. I bear them no ill will; it was my fault the engagement ended. I am here to protect them from—” She paused, shuddered, and took another deep breath. “—from Mr. Sinclair.” This time, some strong emotion flickered briefly in Tanaka’s eyes. Ellie noted it with a thrill. “He is here, is he not?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Yes, my lady. He and I stood as witnesses for the—the marriage ceremony.”

Her palms were slippery with sweat. She tightened her grip on her pistol. “You know why Lord Jasper ended our engagement, correct? You know Mr. Sinclair’s part in it?” Tanaka nodded, deliberately avoiding her gaze. “Then why would Lady Martha ask him to witness her wedding? What possible reason could he have to be here?”

“I—I do not know.” He stared at her. “Do you truly think he will hurt them?”

She nodded. “I know for a fact that he will kill Lady Martha before the night is out. Perhaps Lord Jasper, too, if he gets in the way.”

The blood drained from his cheeks. “I must alert the police—”

“Don’t bother. Even if they make it in time, they won’t be able to stop him.” She shrugged back her cloak and showed Tanaka the gun. He sucked in air through his teeth and took an involuntarily step backward. “I will, though. I might be the only one who can. Please, Tanaka, let me inside before it is too late.”

Tanaka’s eyes never left the gun. “I did not like the look in his eyes,” he admitted after a moment. “They changed as the reverend pronounced my master and mistress married. They were savage, like beast’s eyes.”

“Red eyes,” Ellie murmured. She had seen them too, for just a moment, while they had shared a bed. The memory of that gaze chilled her heart.

“Like blood,” Tanaka agreed. At last, he stepped back and opened the door.

Ellie darted in as quietly as she could, pointing the pistol down the empty hall with a shaky hand. Any moment, she expected those bloody eyes to shine out and fix on her. “Where was Mr. Sinclair when you saw him last?” she whispered.

Tanaka followed suit and dropped his voice. “I left him in the front parlor an hour ago.”

“And Lady Martha?”

“The master bedroom, my lady. She and my master are—” He broke off, too well-bred to elaborate.

_Consummating their marriage_ , Ellie finished for him with a jolt. If they were successful, then no one could dispute the legality of their union. They would truly be married in every sense of the word. And if, as Undertaker believed, Martha and Victor’s contract only stipulated service until she had married Jasper…

“Leave them to me,” she told Tanaka. Her voice sounded very far away. “Take everyone else whom you can find and get out of the house. Run to the nearest church and hide on the altar. The altar itself, understood?” Bewildered, Tanaka nodded. “Good. Are you a religious man, Tanaka?”

“I worship the gods of my homeland, my lady.”

“Then pray for me, if you’d be so kind.”

She darted off before Tanaka could respond, the gun still held at the ready. She did not need a guide; she knew this house as well as she knew her own. Her footsteps were light and quiet, but not hesitant. Up the stairs by the servants’ hall, past the dining room, out into the foyer, up the grand staircase, down the hall to the left, sharp right at the library. On and on. She met no one. The house was preternaturally quiet. She jumped and whirled at every shadow, coming close to firing and wasting her ammunition three times. Her frantic heartbeat pained her. Her breathing was loud and labored in her ears.

As she rounded the corner and entered the hall leading to the master bedroom, she skidded to a halt. There was a voice coming from behind the bedroom door. A woman’s voice, choked with sobs. Ellie clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her panting, then slowly approached the door. This hall seemed far darker than the rest of this house; she could barely see the gun in front of her.

“This is all wrong!” the voice was crying. Martha’s voice. “This isn’t what I wanted at all! You cheated me!”

The sound of the answering voice made Ellie’s chest seize up and her stomach plummet. Its sound and cadence were as familiar to her as her own, but its disdainful tone clashed with them. “Cheat you? My dear, you charged me to ensure your marriage to Earl Phantomhive. Have I not fulfilled my half of the bargain?” His voice dropped a little, dripping with malice. “Is it not time for you to fulfill yours?”

“Not even four hours!” Martha screamed, sobbing harder. “We were married not even four hours, and now he’s dead! I never told you to kill him! I never told you I’d give you my soul on my goddamned wedding night!” The hysterics devolved into a deep, pained fit of coughing.

“No, indeed,” Victor said. “You never set any stipulation other than ‘after Jasper and I are married.’ Well, he has wedded you and bedded you, so by all accounts, you are married. If you wanted forty years of conjugal bliss, you should have specified as much.”

“No!” Martha wheezed between coughs. “Get—away!”

That was all the invitation Ellie needed. She pushed open the door with one hand and rushed into the room, adrenaline flooding her body.

She absorbed her surroundings in less than a second. The great four-poster bed had its curtains drawn, making the inhabitants clearly visible from the threshold. Jasper was sitting up in bed, chest bare and head lolling to the side. One limp hand rested over his heart, and his chalky face was fixed in a look of agonizing terror. _Died of fright as soon as he saw the monster, and who can blame him?_ Ellie thought from some faraway part of her mind. Martha, still fully dressed, stood beside the bed, doubled over from the force of her coughing. The hand clutching the bedpost was white and shaking. Her wedding dress, white and frothing with lace, was speckled with blood. Standing across from her, one black-nailed hand outstretched, eyes crimson and greedy, was Victor.

Ellie raised the gun with both hands. Tanaka and Claudia had tried to teach her how to fence, but she had none of Claudia’s strength or finesse. Jasper had taught her how to shoot, and she had found more success in that. Last month, she had shot a moving clay pigeon from 60 yards away. She was only about ten feet from Victor now. Without a moment’s hesitation, she aimed the muzzle at his heart and pulled the trigger. Before the echo of the bang faded, she raised the pistol to aim at Victor’s forehead and fired again. Both shots found their mark. Victor’s body jerked twice as the shots went home. He stared at her, a look of mild surprise on his face. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he crumpled to the floor.

Ellie was frozen, the gun still pointed where Victor’s head had been a moment ago. She did not dare shoot him again; there were only two bullets she trusted. Undertaker had called Victor a demon, and she had believed him. All the monsters from her gothic novels and penny dreadfuls were weak to silver, so she had paid a smith to melt down her silver earrings into slugs she could fire through the pistol. The rest of her bullets were ordinary. Fine for a man, ineffective on the supernatural. _Let him be dead,_ she prayed, blinking back tears again. _Please, God, let him be dead. Let him—_

Victor sat up. “Excellent shot, Eleanor,” he said with a smile. The holes in his head and chest closed, and the black fluid oozing from the wounds evaporated. “Sadly, though, I’m afraid human weapons have no effect on me, silver or otherwise.” He pounded on his chest once and coughed into his hand. The two bullets, splattered with the same black fluid, glinted in the candlelight. “Shall I bend these into earrings again for you? It was a truly fetching pair.”

The gun slipped out of Ellie’s hands and hit the carpet with a thump. Ellie swayed on her feet and grabbed the doorframe for support. “Demon,” she whispered. Undertaker was right. There had been some last rational part of her that hadn’t believed him, but he was right. Monsters were real, and there was one standing right in front of her. And she couldn’t stop it.

Victor’s smile widened. His teeth had grown sharp and long. “I’m glad you’re quick to understand.” He pocketed the bullets, stood up, and brushed himself off. “Now, would you please be so kind as to wait there for a moment? Your sister and I have some unfinished business to discuss.” His smile widened. His teeth shone. “I’ll play with you as much as you like after that.”

Ellie staggered backward. She wanted desperately to run away, to hide under the covers somewhere and shut her eyes and pretend none of this had ever happened. Her legs would not work. “Get away! Don’t you touch her!” Her voice cracked.

Victor tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why, Eleanor, I thought you were an avid reader on such topics. Surely you understand how contracts work? I have done what Lady Martha asked of me—which, you may be interested to know, was to destroy your life and happiness. Now, she must do what I have asked of her. Is that not fair? Should I not be compensated for my labor?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Meanwhile, Martha’s coughing had subsided. She straightened up and scowled at Victor with what little power remained with her. The only color in her face was the red flecks dotting her lips. “Don’t hurt her,” she rasped. “I told you not to hurt her. I told you.”

His eyes narrowed in contempt as he turned to look at her. “Oh, Martha. You still don’t understand? Our contract is complete. I am under no further obligation to obey you. What’s more—” His face broke out in a leer as he approached Martha, their noses nearly touching. “—how can you say that I did not hurt your beloved sister, on your behalf? What did you expect would happen when you commanded me to sabotage her relationship and ruin her prospects?”

There was half a beat of silence. The two sisters gaped at Victor, then each other, then Victor again. Then, Martha took a ragged breath, shoved Victor away with all her diminishing strength, and ran toward Ellie. There were tears in her eyes and panic on her face. One arm stretched out to Ellie, fingers grasping. Ellie, hardly aware she was doing it, lifted her arm as well. Their fingertips brushed.

The creature that rose up behind Martha, the creature that had Ellie had loved with all her heart and welcomed into her bed, was not something that Ellie’s mind could comprehend. Martha looked over her shoulder and let out a single, strangled shriek. The only sounds that came after were the rending of flesh and the squelching of blood.

When it was over, Ellie couldn’t tell whether minutes, hours, or days had passed. She found herself collapsed onto her knees, vomit staining her dress. There were splashes of Martha’s blood and viscera all over her—all over the entire room. Although she had desperately wanted to, she hadn’t closed her eyes once the entire time. Her sanity held on by the thinnest, most frayed thread.

Victor stood in the center of the room, clean and polished as ever. He had licked the blood off his hands and around his mouth. Not one hair was out of place. His cheeks, usually so pale, had a healthy glow in them, the way Father’s did after a large meal. As he turned to Ellie, his expression morphed into one of sympathy and love. That was worst of all.

“Poor darling,” he murmured soothingly. “My poor Eleanor. I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling.” He crossed the room, knelt in front of her, and gently caressed her cheek. Ellie was too stunned to even flinch. “You loved your sister so dearly. You chose to give up any chance of happiness just to marry for money that could give her a few more years of life. And how does she repay your sacrifice? By breaking your heart and decimating your life. And now she’s gone before you could confront her. What agony you must be in.”

Ellie twitched, but was silent. Victor smiled and pulled her into an embrace, heedless of the filth covering her. His touch was as warm and comforting as always, but his eyes were still red and catlike.

“Would you like me to make the pain stop?” he whispered in her ear. “I can make you forget. I can do anything you desire, with true pleasure. And when I have, you will be with your sister again. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It…does,” Ellie heard herself say from a distance, garbled and faint, as though her ears were stuffed with cotton.

Victor pulled away and looked at her with genuine tenderness. One hand cupped her cheek, while the other grabbed and stroked the back of her right hand. “I have had many, many masters throughout my life. I warmed most of their beds at one point or another. I’d be more than happy to be your bedwarmer as well. In fact, I would cherish it.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Did you know you were my first virgin? I didn’t realize how endearing innocence could be.”

Ellie was silent. Her gaze dropped and landed on the pistol, which was lying just a few inches from her left hand. The pistol. There was something important about that pistol, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

Victor’s eyes gleamed. “I know you still want me,” he breathed.

Slowly, Ellie nodded. Victor smiled and pulled her into a kiss. His lips were icy cold, but the inside of his mouth was as hot as a bonfire. Ellie opened her mouth to accept his tongue. The hand on her face dropped and slipped up her skirts. The other traced intricate patterns on the back of her right hand. Her skin burned at his touch; it was hard to say where the heat was strongest.

_He’s going to eat my soul._

_Who cares?_

_I don’t want to die._

_Yes, I do._

_The pistol, what was so important about the pistol?_

The recollection hit her with the force of a lightning blast. There were more bullets in the chambers.

Victor broke the kiss and looked at her with pity. “Now, Eleanor. We both know that won’t work. Why should a regular bullet kill me when a silver one couldn’t?”

_Just give in. Forget, and die. You’ll be with him forever, and Martha, too._

Her hand was on fire now. She could feel the Mark of the Covenant searing her. Just another few seconds…

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I can’t kill you.”

Victor nodded and moved in to kiss her again.

She snatched up the gun with her left hand, pressed the muzzle to her temple, and fired. The last thing she heard was his roar of rage.


	12. Last Rites

Gradually, the recurrent images of Ellie’s suicide faded into darkness. She floated freely for an indeterminate amount of time. Bit by bit, she became aware of a throbbing, stabbing pain in her abdomen. _That’s odd_ , the distant, coherent part of her mind thought. _It didn’t hurt at all last time I died._ She expected the pain to fade away any moment, but it only grew stronger as the seconds ticked by.

There was something else odd, too. Once the images on her Record disappeared, there had been total silence. Now, though, she could hear an intermittent clinking sound, like metal banging against metal. Ellie concentrated on the sound, and it slowly grew louder and harsher. As she focused beyond the haze of pain and darkness, the lead weights on her eyelids lifted. She opened her eyes and painfully blinked away the fog.

It took her a moment to process her surroundings. She was still on the roof of the church, curled up on her left side. A puddle of blood surrounded her. With each ragged breath, a fresh stab of pain sliced through her. The blurry shapes before her solidified into darting, dancing figures. It was Charlotte and Sebastian, locked in combat. Charlotte was thrusting and jabbing with her Death Scythe, while Sebastian parried each blow with handfuls of silverware. Ellie’s own Death Scythe, she realized, was lying a few inches away from her left hand. She reached out and grabbed it, hissing through her teeth as the movement agitated her wound.

_Bastard_ , she thought as she watched Sebastian block another blow from the pitchfork. _He knew she was possessed the whole time. He had to. Why didn’t he say something?_ Of course, she already knew the answer. No one had asked him.

She watched the fight for a while, unable to move. It occurred to her that there was something strange about the way Sebastian was moving. His strikes were all defensive blocks and parries, not his usual offensive maneuvers. Every so often, he would throw one of the knives or forks in his hands, but it would miss Charlotte by a wide margin and stick fast in the roof, some quite close to Ellie. A wide ring of silver handles encircled the three of them. Why was he fighting like that? He was pale and sluggish from proximity to the holy altar below, but then again, so was Charlotte. Neither were injured. _So why—?_

And then she remembered. The night they had formed their alliance, Ciel had ordered Sebastian not to harm either Reaper until the killer had been captured. Sebastian could not capture the killer without harming Charlotte’s body. They were at an impasse, and Sebastian had just allowed Ciel to give the worst order possible.

“Son of a bitch,” Ellie rasped, then collapsed into a coughing fit worthy of her sister. Hearing her, Sebastian smiled and gave a miniscule shrug.

Charlotte had also heard. She turned around, grinning like a madwoman. “Well, look who’s back. You Reapers are tougher than you look.” Her voice, physically damaged by the demon ravaging her body, was hoarse and distorted. “Good timing. I’m getting bored of playing with that blood traitor over there, and I still need to pay you back for my hand.”

Her heels clicked as she crossed the roof to loom over Ellie’s prone body. With one foot, she rolled Ellie onto her stomach. Ellie screamed in agony as all her weight landed on her wound. Charlotte stomped one foot on the small of Ellie’s back and pressed the tines of her Death Scythe against the nape of her neck. More blood trickled down the sides of Ellie’s neck.

“Any last words?” Charlotte hissed in glee.

Ellie spat out a mouthful of blood. “Yeah, just a few,” she said. With all the strength that remained to her, she shot her hand out and latched onto Charlotte’s ankle. “Got you.”

She felt Charlotte stiffen. “What are you doing? Get off me!” She tried to shake the hand off, putting more weight on Ellie’s back. Ellie screamed again but did not loosen her grip.

“Got you,” she said again, her voice faint. “You can’t get away. I’ve captured you.” She sucked air into her burning lungs and shouted as loudly as she could. “So hurry up and harm her already, you dumbshit butler!”

Sebastian grinned, showing off his fangs. Crimson eyes closed as he bowed. “As you wish.” He lifted one leg as high as it would go, then brought his foot down onto the roof with a heavy thud.

As the roof creaked and sagged beneath her, Ellie realized that the knives and forks surrounding her had not missed their marks. The building was old and rotten, the roof barely supporting the weight of the three people atop it. The circle of holes weakened the roof further, and the force of the demon’s stomp would be the final straw. The roof moaned and started to give way.

“You idiot!” Charlotte screamed. “You’ve killed us all!”

Sebastian only smiled and stomped his foot again.

With an almighty crash, the roof caved in and they fell. Ellie landed on her stomach and blacked out from the explosive pain.

She came to only a few minutes later, every inch of her body aching. Looking around as best she could without moving her head and exacerbating her wounds, she saw that she had landed on the steps of the altar. Instinctively, she had managed to keep hold of her Death Scythe. Charlotte was a few feet away from her, lying on her front by the baptismal font. Sebastian had landed on and snapped one of the front pews. Both demons appeared to be unconscious, their exposed skin snow-white. Charlotte was breathing in short, shallow gasps; Sebastian did not appear to be breathing at all.

Gritting her teeth, Ellie rotated her shoulders and ankles and wiggled her fingers and toes. She could feel the skin that had landed on the edge of the steps bruising, but nothing appeared to be broken or sprained. There were planks of wood and chunks of plaster on top of her; she wriggled out of them slowly, whimpering as her stomach scraped the floor. Then, she let go of her Death Scythe and positioned her arms so that both hands were on the floor directly beneath her.

“Here goes nothing,” she mumbled, then pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She stayed in place for a moment, her face dripping sweat and tears. There were smears of blood on the floor beneath her. She was starting to feel light-headed, and the edge of her vision was blurring again. She would have to work fast.

Ellie took a deep breath. Quickly, like ripping off a bandage, she jumped to her feet. She started to gray out and nearly lost her balance, but she managed to keep upright by holding onto a large candleholder. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and her dizziness increased. She had to press her forehead against the candle and pinch her leg as hard as she could to keep from passing out entirely.

When she felt well enough to stand without support, she let go of the candle and staggered around to face the two demons. Neither of them had moved or regained consciousness, though Charlotte’s eyes were fluttering a little. Ellie considered bending down and grabbing her Death Scythe, but she was afraid that if she shifted her center of gravity too dramatically, she would collapse on the floor and be unable to find her feet again. She would have to improvise. Her eyes landed on the baptismal font, a ceramic prism with a large basin half-full of water at the top. She grinned.

Lurching like a sailor, she made her slow, painful way over to Charlotte’s body. After giving her an experimental kick in the side (to which Charlotte responded only with a grunt), she leaned down as far as she dared and grabbed the back of Charlotte’s blazer. “Up you get,” she said, pulling Charlotte up to her feet and pressing her front against the baptismal font. She swayed drunkenly, nearly losing consciousness again, and reached around Charlotte to grip the edges of the basin to stay upright.

When she felt as though she had regained as much strength as she was going to, she peered around Charlotte’s head to look at her face. She was awake now, her eyes dull and burning with hatred. Her whole body was trembling, and her skin had taken on a greenish tinge. She spat black blood onto the floor at her feet.

“You didn’t kill my sister, did you?” Ellie asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Charlotte shook her head only a little, but even that much movement would have knocked her over had Ellie not been holding her against the font. “No,” she rasped. “I didn’t.”

She nodded. “I believe you.”

“I didn’t…kill…your sister. You’ve…got no quarrel…with me. Let me…go. I’ll…I’ll repay you.” She was gasping in between words, her chest barely moving.

“Oh, is that right? You’ll grant my wish?”

It nodded.

“Very well.” She leaned over and hissed into Charlotte’s ear. “I wish that every last one of you monsters would die already.”

So saying, she gripped the back of Charlotte’s head and pushed her face into the holy water. The water hissed and boiled, slopping over the sides of the basin. The smell of burning skin polluted the air. Charlotte screamed and thrashed, struggling to escape but paralyzed by the poisonous liquid.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Ellie said, pushing the demon further into the water. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” One tear trickled down her cheek, but she did not relax her grip even the smallest amount.

After about thirty seconds, Charlotte’s body slackened. Ellie blinked, and the figure before her changed. The blazer and slacks became a low-cut, short-sleeved frock. The professional bob became flowing, waist-length locks. Her forearms spilt open and began gushing blood. Startled, Ellie pulled Charlotte away from the font and looked at her face. Charlotte’s glasses tumbled off and landed at the bottom of the basin. Her half-open eyes were not the yellow-green phosphorescence of the Reaper or the crimson of the demon, but a warm brown color. There was a small smile on her face, her lips parted to reveal flat, ordinary teeth. Then, before Ellie’s eyes, her body turned to dust and spilled onto the floor. Only her glasses in the basin and the Death Scythe on the floor remained.

“Rest in peace,” Ellie murmured. She hunched over the font, arms trembling, staring through watery eyes at the glasses below the water. Nearly all her stamina was gone, but she willed herself to remain alert. There was still something she had to do first, something she could only do here and now. _One down, one to go._

“Sebastian!”

Ellie’s head snapped around. Ciel Phantomhive was standing at the door of the church, lingering on the threshold as though he was afraid to cross it. His one eye, wide with shock, fixed on his butler’s motionless body.

“Sebastian!” he shouted, his voice cracking a little. “Sebastian, get up now! That is an order!”

Ellie heard a low groan behind her. Turning as much as she could without loosening her grip on the font, she saw Sebastian slowly sit up, then pull himself to his feet using the unbroken back of the pew. His eyes were rusty and unseeing, and he shook so badly that he almost vibrated, but he was on his feet, not ten feet from the altar. He shot one blank look at Ellie before tortuously dragging himself down the aisle toward his master.

_No! He’s getting away!_

Ellie took one step after him, and then the ground rushed up to meet her and she knew no more.

-

The next time she opened her eyes, she could feel cool, fresh air chafing her face. The ground beneath her was stone instead of wood, and the smell was fouler. Two yellow-green lights hovered above her, flanked by bushy brown trees. She blinked, and the face of Cartwright swam into view.

“Hang in there, Howard,” he said in a low voice. “The ambulance is just beyond the Gates. You’ll be at the hospital in no time. Just hold on until then.”

Ellie tried to open her mouth, but her lips seemed fused shut. She pried them apart with effort, the pain from her wound spreading out so that every movement was agony. “Se…Sebastian…”

“Don’t worry about him, Howard. He can’t do anything to you.” He looked away and shouted at someone she couldn’t see. “You two, get inside that church! Look for any trace of Murray or the Phantomhive butler! I need to know that building as well as if I’d been inside myself!”

Ellie blinked again. Had Cartwright not been in the church? Or his underlings? Then who had carried her out? She opened her mouth to ask, but she was out again before she could form the words.

_Please be dead_ , she thought as she went under. _Please just let him be dead._


	13. Requiem

Ellie spent a week in the hospital after her surgery. The doctors diagnosed no lasting damage or even an inability to work as a Security officer, but they all agreed that she needed bedrest and as lengthy a convalescence as possible. Cartwright, acting in Ellie’s stead while she was semiconscious, followed their advice and filed a request to transfer Ellie to a desk job for the foreseeable future. To her disappointment, Management turned it around with an approval in record time. There was nothing before her but long, physically painful days in the hospital followed by longer, mentally painful days away from the field. She would have no way to investigate Sebastian, and she was afraid he would make good on his threats to attack any Reaper who took her place. Assuming he was still alive, that is.

Her one comfort during her recovery was the attention of Ronald Knox. Every day, within half an hour of his shift ending, he would stroll into her room, winking away the trepidations of the orderlies warning him of visiting hours. Ellie was surprised and touched by his daily devotion, considering how much he valued his off-work hours. He would greet her with a smile, replace the flowers in her vase with a fresh bouquet, and sit with her for an hour, talking about everything and nothing.

Most days, he would hand her a red envelope, in which were four pages of loose cursive in red ink from Grell. The letters consisted of what had to have been every passing thought in Grell’s head throughout the day, sporadic and unconnected and often consisting of far too much information for comfort. Still, Ellie appreciated the time and effort Grell put in, especially since Grell ended every letter with a fervent, genuine hope that her house arrest would be revoked soon and that they could see each other in person again. The prospect was exhausting, but satisfying.

The thing she valued the most from these visits, however, was the workplace gossip Ronald shared with her. The everyday office politics and amusements were a welcome distraction from her injury, but not nearly as prized as the whispers Ronald had picked up about the night Charlotte had died.

“Obviously, I don’t know everything,” he warned her. “That was purely a Security affair; Collections was only involved in reclaiming the soul Charlotte was supposed to collect. This is just hearsay I picked up ‘round the coffeemakers, and you know how that goes.”

“Of course,” Ellie said, fighting a smile. Ronald was not nearly as thorough of a gossip-monger as Grell, but he was no slouch, either. She was confident that his report would be the closest to the truth she was likely to get.

Apparently, as soon as she had dragged Charlotte away, Blackwell had chased down one of the Dispatch’s messenger birds and requested immediate backup from the Collections department. Upon receiving the message, William T. Spears had notified Cartwright. This, along with Ellie’s earlier information, was enough to spur him into uncharacteristic action. With Jackman and Smith—two older, burly Reapers who took on the most combat-heavy missions—as backup, he conducted an in-person interrogation of Blackwell and tracked Ellie and Charlotte to the church. By the time they arrived, Ellie was lying unconscious on the street, and the only traces of Charlotte were a pile of dust, a pair of spectacles, and an abandoned Death Scythe. They had put together the rest from Ellie’s Record, which they examine covertly after her surgery.

“And you’re sure they found me outside the church?” Ellie asked Ronald. “Not inside?”

He frowned. “Yeah, definitely. I overheard Jackman telling Smith that he was amazed you were able to drag yourself so far from the church in your condition. Why do you ask?”

She opened her mouth, paused, then shook her head. “I was definitely inside when I passed out. I don’t remember going out on my own.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You’d lost half your blood by that point. I bet you wouldn’t even remember if Mr. Spears dressed the cancan in a frilly tutu.” He guffawed at the mental image.

Ellie smiled, still thoughtful. No, that couldn’t be right. She had passed out the second she tried to move. There was absolutely no way she had the strength to crawl away from the baptismal font, much less all the way outside, on her own. Someone must have carried her. As far as she knew, the only two people nearby when she blacked out were Ciel and Sebastian. Ciel had been outside the church to start with, and too short and weak to lift her besides. That left Sebastian, who had been in an even worse condition than she had.

_I suppose it’s possible he could’ve dragged me out behind him, but why would he? He could’ve just left me there to die. It would’ve been better for him, in fact. Did Phantomhive order him to do it? Possible, but not likely. He would’ve had no reason to, and his priority would have been to get his pet demon out of harm’s way as soon as possible._

Nothing about it made sense, but it was the only scenario she could come up with. Now, turning Sebastian’s potential motives over and over in her mind, she had even more reason to return to the human world as soon as possible. With the threat of desk duty looming before her, though, she didn’t see when her next opportunity to go there would be.

She had no choice, then. Once she was discharged, she would just have to march into Cartwright’s office and make the opportunity.

-

As expected, Cartwright was not amused with her proposal. “You must still be anemic, Howard. I can’t think of any other explanation as to how you’d suggest something so moronic.”

Ellie did not balk. “Captain, while I’ve been away, who’s been surveilling the Phantomhive household?”

 “Freeman. He was cleared to resume active duty the day after your surgery.”

“And how’s that been going?”

Cartwright’s eyes narrowed. “He’s understandably a little twitchy, but so far, there haven’t been any problems. He’s hardly had anything to do, in fact.”

“Because Phantomhive returned to the country once the case closed,” Ellie guessed, “and because the butler’s still recovering, right?”

“So it would seem.”

“What happens when the butler’s strong enough to protect his master, and they can go back to London and be surrounded by dying souls in droves? What will Freeman do then?”

“His _job_ , I expect. As you will do yours.”

Ellie took a step closer to Cartwright’s desk and lowered her voice. “With all due respect, Captain, have you forgotten why Freeman was away from work in the first place? Make no mistake, sir, Sebastian will make good on his threats. By the time I’m back to peak condition, he’ll have butchered half the department.”

Cartwright’s voice matched her volume and exceeded her anger. “And if you go out there _before_ you’re back to peak condition, who’s to say he won’t take advantage of your weakness and kill you?”

“He won’t do that, sir. I’m sure of it.” Cartwright scoffed loudly. “I’m not saying I want to go back in the field, sir. I just want to give Sebastian fair warning that I’m not going to be around for a while, out of necessity, and not to attack any of my replacements.”

“And you think he’ll listen to you, do you?”

“I don’t know, sir, but it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Cartwright glowered at her for a moment longer, then sat back in his chair and sighed. “Have it your way, then. But let’s make it two months of desk duty instead of one.”

It took all of Ellie’s willpower not to visibly react. “Yes, sir.”

-

The next evening, Ellie accompanied Freeman to the Phantomhive estate. There were no souls on the To-Die List close enough to the manor house to require a Security presence, but Cartwright agreed that if they were going to alert Sebastian to the staffing changes, they ought to do so as soon as possible.

As they approached the front entrance, Ellie turned to Freeman and said, “I’m not expecting anything will go wrong, but watch my back in case it does, will you?”

“You got it,” Freeman promised, then leapt up to his accustomed vantage point atop the nearby oak tree. Ellie noticed as he did so that he looked somewhat green about the gills. Ellie could neither blame him nor say that she didn’t feel the same.

Taking a deep breath that made her half-healed would twinge, she walked up to the doors and lifted her hand to knock. Before she could make contact, the door swung inward. Sebastian stepped into view, looking far too hale and hearty for Ellie’s liking.

“Welcome back, Miss Howard,” he said with a bow. “I’m so pleased to see you again.” There was a slight emphasis on the “you,” and as she straightened up, he stared coolly at a point above Ellie’s head. She glanced over her shoulder to see Freeman recoil from Sebastian’s gaze.

She sighed and turned back to Sebastian. “Right. We need to discuss that, actually.” She gave him a quick once-over. “You’re looking well, all things considered. I was expecting you to be lingering on death’s door still.”

“Thank you very much for your concern. As you can see, I am in excellent condition.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And how many souls did you consume to get there?”

“None, as a matter of fact. The only soul I desire is that of my young master; none other could so much as heal a bruise.” He stepped out of the doorway and held his arm out to the side. “Do please come in. The night is chill.”

“That won’t be necessary. My business with you won’t take more than a minute.”

“I should be happy to assist you in any way I can. However, my young master would also like to speak with you, and I should not have him out in the cold.”

Ellie opened her mouth, realized she had no good excuse, and closed it. She did not want to enter the house. Freeman was clearly not going to move from his perch. He would be no help at all if things went south while she was inside. Besides, she had died in this house. Her last living memories, strengthened by the recent viewing of her Record, flashed in her mind every time she closed her eyes. She shook her head to clear it.

Divining her thoughts, Sebastian chuckled a little. “There is no need to fear. No further harm shall befall you within this manor. You have my solemn vow.”

“Who’s afraid?” Ellie mumbled, blushing a little. Before Sebastian could respond, she lifted her head and strode inside with all the dignity a noblewoman could muster.

Once she had registered her surroundings, though, she stopped short. Her research into the Phantomhive affair had indicated that the manor had burned to the ground the night Ciel’s parents died. Upon Ciel’s return, Sebastian had rebuilt it over the span of a few hours. Such a feat did not surprise Ellie; what was surprising was the level of accuracy. Excepting the portraits and bits of wallpaper and carpet that had faded with age, the foyer looked exactly as it had forty years ago. Even the scratch on the pillar, a sign of one of Claudia’s rare missed thrusts with her unblunt fencing sword, was a perfect match. She half-expected Claudia herself to appear at the top of the staircase, beaming with welcome and rushing down for a sisterly embrace.

“Is something the matter?” Sebastian asked, all innocence.

Ellie realized too late that her eyes were watering. She shut them and took a deep breath to steady herself. “No, everything’s fine. Just admiring your handiwork.” She gestured around to indicate the entire manor.

When she opened her eyes again, Sebastian was directly in front of her. His smile was almost a smirk. “Thank you very much. I am so pleased to receive the approval of someone who knows the estate well. Now, if you would please follow me.” He turned and walked away without checking to make sure that she was following. Ellie quickly rubbed her eyes and jogged after him.

It took her a minute to realize that they had turned right instead of left. “Hey, did you change the layout of the house when you rebuilt it? The parlor used to be the other way.”

“And so it remains. However, my young master wishes to receive you in the library.”

“I…I see.” She walked on, her stomach clenching.

The library, too, looked almost exactly as Ellie remembered it. Out of all the manor’s many rooms, it was this one in which she had spent the most time, and her sense of nostalgia doubled as she entered. The books were all the same, old but well-cared-for and even better-read. Idly, she wondered if Ciel had obtained new copies of all the books, or if Sebastian had replicated those, as well. The only marked difference in the whole place was the portrait hanging on the far wall, above the fireplace. She did not look at the subject. 

Ciel was not there, but that was to be expected, considering the late hour. “If you would please wait here a moment,” Sebastian said, “I shall inform my young master of your arrival.” He started to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Ellie said. “I don’t mind meeting with the little lord, but my business here is with you. Let me say my piece first.”

“Certainly.” He turned back to her and stood at attention, the very picture of obedience and servitude.

Ellie glared at him before continuing. “I only just got out of the hospital, which is why it took me so long to come back here. The doctors say I’m going to make a full recovery, but until I do, my superiors have taken me off active duty. Mr. Freeman is going to take my place in the meantime.”

He nodded, frowning a little. “I see. I suppose it can’t be helped. One’s health must always come first.” His almost-smirk returned. “Still, I must admit that I shall miss you terribly while you are away.”

“Don’t get cute. Just listen, all right? While I am gone, you are not to harm Mr. Freeman, or any other Reaper who covers for me. Don’t talk to them, don’t look at them, don’t do a damn thing. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Are you going to attack my replacements?”

“If they should threaten my young master, then—”

“Sebastian.”

He inclined his head. “I shall not attack them, and I hope not to give any reason for them to attack me.”

Considering how gun-shy Freeman was and how cautious the other officers were, Ellie doubted there would be any sort of altercation. Still, she wanted to be completely sure. “Can I trust you to keep your word?”

He looked affronted. “I should hope so. What sort of butler would I be if I assailed my young master’s guests?”

“You would, in fact, be a Phantomhive butler.” She sighed. “All right, fine. I’ll take that. There’s one more thing I want to ask you about, though.”

“Certainly. I live to serve.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Right. After Charlotte died, my coworkers found me outside the church, but I definitely remember being inside when I blacked out. Did you carry me outside?”

Sebastian smiled, brow furrowed a little. “Ah. I’m afraid you’re only half-right. I did not have the strength to carry you, so I resorted to dragging you by the leg. I do apologize for the indignity.” He bowed.

“Did Lord Phantomhive order it?”

“He did not. I considered it a personal obligation.”

“But why, though?” Ellie said with more force than she expected. “Why bother with me? You were half-dead already. You risked your life, just so you could risk it again when I recovered. What’s the point?”

Sebastian chuckled. “For all your dealings with my kind, Miss Howard, you don’t yet seem to have grasped an understanding of us. As I said, it was an obligation. It is not in my nature to leave a favor unrepaid. That is why I prefer to negotiate a contract rather than scrabbling for food like a common beast. The sense of fair play leaves me quite satisfied.”

Ellie blinked. “What do you mean, a favor unrepaid? What have I ever done for you?”

“Why, you defended my young master from the other demon’s advances. You were even so good as to fetch him for me.” He inclined his head. “I really am quite grateful.”

With all the excitement of the subsequent days, she had forgotten the ritual beneath the church. “What, that? That wasn’t a favor. That wasn’t anything. I did that without even thinking.”

“True, but how many other Reapers would have done the same? Who else would have acted upon human sentiments?” His smile broadened. “Do you see now why I am so insistent upon your presence here? You are truly the only one of your ilk whom I can trust.”

Ellie’s black humor returned in an instant. “Humph. Cheers, I guess. Fine. I’m ready whenever Lord Phantomhive is.” She went to the nearest shelf, grabbed a random book, and pretended to read. Sebastian bowed at the waist and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Once his footsteps faded down the hall, Ellie sighed again and returned the book. She knew what Sebastian’s true object in bringing her to the library was. Her feelings got the better of her, and she turned to look at the portrait above the fireplace. Her chest ached as she gazed upon her own face, so similar to life that it could have been her reflection—save, of course, for the pale blue eyes.

The portrait had been Claudia’s idea, she recalled. It was to be a joint birthday present to Jasper, as well as Claudia’s magnum opus. Every day for three weeks, Ellie had put on her finest dress (the blue one she planned to marry in) and sat perfectly still for hours in Claudia’s chambers while the latter painted. If memory served, the portrait was barely halfway done by the time Jasper broke the engagement. Claudia most likely continued it after Ellie’s death, as a tribute.

Ellie felt a lump swell in her throat as she looked over the painting. The face might have been the same, but if she hadn’t known better, she never would have thought the subject and her current self were the same person. The girl in the portrait looked prim and proper enough to satisfy society’s standards, but Claudia had found ways to sneak a little emotion into her model. The cheeks were rosy, the eyes were bright, and the smile was natural and just a little wider and warmer than that of most subjects. In short, the girl in the portrait looked happy.

And why shouldn’t she be? She had a grand home, a dear family, and affectionate friends. Her sister might have been dying, but she wasn’t there yet. She had a rich, handsome fiancé who secured her future and treated her kindly. Best of all, by this point, she knew for the first time what it meant to be truly, desperately in love. Oh, she had fancied herself to be depressed, but in truth, she knew nothing of true misery. And now she was gone forever. The portrait was all that remained. Ellie bowed her head and mourned her loss.

She didn’t realize how much time had passed before she heard a voice at her side. “I spent quite a bit of time here as a child. In a sense, you were one of my most constant companions.”

Ellie forced herself to smile at Ciel. “You wouldn’t have liked the real one as well. She talks more, for one thing.”

They stood in silence for a minute or so, gazing at the portrait. Ciel’s uncovered eye kept darting back and forth between the portrait and Ellie’s face, his expression unreadable. Sebastian, equally silent, stood by the door with his eyes on his lord.

“So,” Ciel said at last, “your partner was the true culprit all along.”

“After a fashion, yes.”

“I wonder that, skilled hunter as you are, you did not notice your quarry until it was far too late.” His youthful features twisted in a sneer.

“Yes, that was unfortunate.” She smiled. “If only someone who had realized what was going on had been given proper permission to resolve the situation.”

The sneer became a scowl. Ciel cleared his throat and rearranged his face to a more aristocratic expression. “Quite. Well, it doesn’t matter. The children of London are safe, and Her Majesty can rest easy.”

“I was wondering about that, actually. How exactly did you explain what happened to the queen? It’s not as though you could be honest with her.”

His scowl returned. “No, indeed. I simply presented Fletcher as the true culprit. He did not dispute the accusation and has since been consigned to Newgate and condemned to death.”

“And you have no qualms about killing an innocent man?”

A deep blackness spread across Ciel’s face as he glowered at her. “Fletcher may not have taken the children’s lives himself, but you know as well as I do that he was not an innocent man.”

Ellie nodded. She was too wise in the ways of the world to take even token offense at Fletcher’s fate. The Watchdog’s work was often roundabout, never pretty, and always necessary. At any rate, someone had to take the fall.

“That brings us nicely to my business with you,” Ciel continued. “I never got the chance to—to thank you. For helping me. Before.” He bowed like a courtier, ducking his head to hide his flaming cheeks.

“What, this again?” She shot a frown at Sebastian, but she spoke to Ciel about it more gently and in better humor than she had earlier. “Don’t worry about it. I would have done the same for anyone in danger.”

Ciel straightened up, still pink. “But that is the heart of the matter. I was _not_ in danger. The demon had not killed any of its previous victims until they were well away from the church. And even if it broke that pattern in my case, Sebastian would have rushed to my aid, ill effects or no.” They both looked at Sebastian, who bowed and murmured agreement. “So why bother endangering yourself?”

Ellie groped for an answer, then reluctantly presented the truth. “I’m not sure, Milord. I guess I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt.” The look on Ciel’s face told her that he wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. It was her turn to blush. “To be perfectly honest, you remind me of my sister a little bit.”

He blinked. “Your sister? The one killed by the demon?”

“That’s right.” She looked up at the portrait again, sorting out her thoughts. “I didn’t tell you the whole story. Martha wasn’t killed randomly; she had formed a contract with the demon, and it was collecting the soul she had promised. I can’t imagine how much pain she had to be in to agree to that. If I had only been able to help her—” She broke off and had to swallow the lump pin her throat before continuing. “You’re in the same position she was. A worse one, in fact. So…I don’t know. I just want to help.”

Ciel stared at her. When he spoke, his voice dripped with disdain. “What on Earth are you talking about it? I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t want your help. I’m not in any position to need help.” Sebastian twitched, but said nothing. His eyes had started to change color.

Ellie’s temper flared. “So you’re fine with Sebastian killing you, is that it? You’re fine with being eradicated in the most violent, horrifying way possible?”

“So long as I have my revenge, I couldn’t care less what happens. You’re more than welcome to kill Sebastian once my business with him is concluded, but if you try it before then, you’ll regret it.”

She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. “I don’t get you. I don’t get you people at all.”

“No, you don’t,” Ciel said with a smile. “Because you were too weak to accept this power when you had the chance.”

Enraged, hardly aware that she was doing it, Ellie raised her hand to strike Ciel. She checked herself at the last second, catching sight of Sebastian. His position had shifted slightly, leaning forward and bracing himself to leap at her. She was still too weak to have any chance of besting him, so, disgusted, she lowered her hand. The boy hadn’t even flinched.

“You’ll see,” she growled. “You’ll see how _strong_ you are once your dog has no reason to obey anymore.” She stalked over to the window, slammed it open, and jumped out onto the grass. Then she stormed off, the sound of mocking laughter in her ears.


	14. Performance

One day during the first week of February, Cartwright called Ellie into his office as she was getting ready to clock out. Beyond the occasional aloof morning greeting, it was the first time he had spoken to her during her desk duty. Ellie couldn’t help but take it as a good sign. She hadn’t heard anything about returning to field duty, but maybe Cartwright wanted to tell her that everything was set for her return. She forced herself to seem casual and unexcited as she walked into the office.

“Shut the door behind you,” Cartwright said without looking up. His eyes were on a single piece of paper lying in front of him. From what Ellie could tell, it was not the crisp white printer-paper of the Dispatch, but a small lined scrap of notebook paper.

Freeman was in the office as well, seated in one of the chairs before Cartwright’s desk. His Death Scythe, shaped like a bow saw, leaned against the leg of the chair. It was larger than it used to be; Ellie guessed Freeman had upgraded it out of apprehension in his new role. She shut the office door and took the empty chair next to him, careful not to disturb the Scythe.

He nodded to her as she sat down. “Hey, there. How’s the injury?”

She twisted her torso experimentally and felt no pain. “Good as it’s going to get, I think. The doctors said I should be able to get back on the front lines soon.” She shot a meaningful look at Cartwright as she said this.

Cartwright rolled his eyes, smiling a little. “What’s your rush, Howard? Bored already?”

“Yes, Captain,” Ellie said without hesitation. She had spent the last month reorganizing the filing cabinet, entering reams of data into the system, and rewriting the employee handbook. It was all necessary work, but she was about ready to tear her hair out.

“Well, then, you’re in luck. You’ve been cleared to resume active duty.” He made a sour face as Ellie grinned. “If it were up to me, I’d give you more time to ease back into it, but time isn’t a luxury we have. There’s an enormous soul collection on the horizon, and your butler is right in the middle of it.”

Ellie’s smile faded. “What sort of collection, sir?”

Cartwright explained it to her. On the night of 9th February—five days from now—Collections would retrieve and examine over two hundred souls. The majority were children between five and twelve years old. A few would die in accidents, but the cause of death for most of the children would be either smoke inhalation or burning as the result of a house fire. What’s more, there was a note next to each of their entries in the To-Die List stating that a demon would start the fire.

“It’s going to be Sebastian without a doubt,” Freeman said, “and we need to keep a closer watch than usual on him while he’s doing it. Between the fire itself and the state those kids’ souls will be in, the conditions will be almost identical to the day he and Phantomhive made their deal. Management is worried he’ll get too excited and swipe one of the souls.”

“The state of their souls,” Ellie echoed. She thought a moment, then turned to Cartwright. “This is Watchdog business, right, Captain? That’s why you’re so sure Sebastian will be the culprit.”

He nodded. “The Phantomhive boy started his investigation today. Freeman caught a glimpse of the queen’s marching orders through a window.”

The children who would die in the fire, Freeman told her, were kidnapping victims. For a little over a year, children of various ages and all walks of life had vanished from the streets of every county in England. This was not so unusual in and of itself, but there was one commonality: the children all disappeared within days of the arrival of a circus troupe in their towns. The queen and her agents picked up on this, and with her letter, she included two tickets to one of the circus’s London performance.

“Where is the collection site?” Ellie asked. “Anywhere near the circus?”

“It’s a manor house in York,” Cartwright answered, glancing at one of the papers on his desk. “That circus is definitely involved, though. The ringmaster is going to die at the site, too, and several performers will die at the Phantomhive manor.”

Ellie nodded. “So, I need to babysit Sebastian while he’s at that manor, right? Physically speaking, that doesn’t sound too difficult.”

They exchanged glances that were half-amused and half-exasperated. “Unfortunately, there’s more to it,” Cartwright said. He gestured to the scrap of notebook paper. “Management got this memo from William T. Spears today. He’s just learned of Sebastian’s involvement, and he’s requesting backup from you, specifically.”

“Backup for what?”

Apparently, in advance of missions in which a large number of souls was involved, Collections would send out officers to conduct preliminary examinations undercover in the field. This practice was getting more common since the Gates had taken to dropping off Reapers at the wrong coordinates. For the last month or so, William T. Spears had posed as a rookie circus performer and secretly followed the members who were kidnapping the kids, in order to take quick glimpses at the victims’ Cinematic Records. The idea was to expedite the examinations in order to collect the souls more efficiently on the day of the incident. With Grell on administrative leave and Eric, Alan, and Charlotte dead, Collections was dangerously short-staffed. The more efficient a few people could be, the better.

“And when you say, ‘back him up,’” Ellie said once Cartwright had finished, “you mean you want me to go undercover as a circus performer?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

She fidgeted in her seat. “Excuse me, Captain, but why can’t I just remain invisible and watch Sebastian from a distance?”

He looked exasperated again, and Freeman chuckled behind his hand. “Sebastian isn’t exactly the issue here. Management has been looking over Spears’s field reports, and they’ve determined it would be prudent to have someone looking after him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Put it this way,” Freeman said, fighting a losing battle with a mischievous smile. “You can say what you want about Grell, but you can’t deny that she can blend in with humans when she has to.”

Ellie grimaced. “Oh, God. What’s the damage?”

“Surprisingly minimal so far,” Cartwright said. “Apparently, most of the performers think Spears is simply joking, or has a love of the occult. Obviously, though, that’s not going to last forever.”

“Right.” She let out a heavy sigh. “How exactly am I supposed to pass as a performer, though? I don’t know any tricks.”

“Sure, you do,” Freeman said. “You’re stronger, faster, and more athletic than anyone else in that troupe. You can cobble together an act, no problem.”

“Just try to keep a low profile while you’re doing it,” Cartwright cut in. “Remember, the point of this is to stop the general populace from figuring out that we exist.”

Ellie groped for another excuse and came away empty-handed. She had no desire to directly interact with Ciel and Sebastian again, much less humans in general, but it didn’t seem as though there was any way to avoid it. “Understood, sir. I’ll keep both Sebastian and Mr. Spears in line.”

“Good. Head down to Tailoring and get yourself a disguise before you go. Report to the fairground at ten o’clock tomorrow to meet with Spears. The porter has the coordinates already, but you’ll want to build in some time in case the Gates screw up again.”

“Will do, sir.” She turned to leave.

“Howard.”

“Sir?”

He had a grim look on his face. “Watch yourself out there.”

-

At ten o’clock on the dot the next morning, Ellie stood outside circus compound, shivering a little in the winter air. The troupe had set up shop in an open field just beyond London’s city limits, taking up about two acres worth of space. Wooden posts encircled the field, with more blue cloth stretched out between them as a makeshift fence. At the near edge of the field was a wooden arch, blaring the legend “Noah’s Ark Circus” in bright white letters on a violet background. Beyond this was the big-top, made of blue tarpaulin and large enough to shelter at least five hundred people. Rows of smaller, plainer tents were erected behind it, most likely meant to house the players and supplies. The mingled odors of animal dung, fried foods, clean straw, and unwashed bodies hung over the compound.

Ellie loitered outside the arch, fiddling with and smoothing down her unfamiliar clothes. Tailoring had provided her with an austere black dress, a pair of scuffed high-heeled ankle boots, a thin brown shawl, and a threadbare black felt hat. The clothes had all been of high quality once, but time and poor conditions had made them unfit for anyone above the working class. It was an outfit to match the persona Ellie had crafted for this mission: a former gentlewoman overtaken by poverty and misfortune, now with nowhere left in the world to go and no chance of betterment. It was an appropriate role for her to play, considering that it was true.

Still, there would be plenty of acting involved, and that made Ellie nervous. In life, she had frequently hidden her true feelings and played the part of the ideal English noblewoman, but it had been a long time since she had needed to perform on that level. She had allowed herself to fall into bad habits as a Reaper, and the rules and language of the gentry were no longer second nature to her. It would take all her concentration not to slip up, and that was without accounting for the circus tricks she would need to learn and perform. She could only hope this job would wrap up quickly and she could return to her normal duties soon. _Not bloody likely, with my luck._

“Eleanor Howard. Right on time, as usual.”

Ellie turned toward the voice, and her jaw dropped. “What on God’s green earth are you wearing?”

A bright, colorful figure had appeared from behind one of the nearer tents. It resembled William T. Spears from the neck up, but everything below that was incompatible with everything Spears stood for. Over his familiar white dress shirt, he wore a pale green waistcoat with a dark green trim, a red necktie with big white polka dots, and a sequined yellow blazer that shimmered when he moved. His trousers had three fat, horizontal stripes: white from waistband to mid-thigh, lavender around the knees, and violet from shin to ankle.

He also had his usual gloves and black dress shoes, as well as his Death Scythe, which Ellie saw with some alarm. Her own Death Scythe was back in the Reaper world, but like all Reapers, she could summon it to appear instantaneously in her hand as needed. If Spears didn’t have the sense to do the same, then this stealth mission must have been going worse than Cartwright had thought.

The lines between Spears’s eyebrows deepened. “This is the costume I was provided by the administrator of this circus. Obviously, I find it humiliating, but it is necessary to blend in among the humans, despite its loudness.”

Ellie glanced at the Death Scythe. “Uh-huh.”

“This almost goes without saying, but you are forbidden from mentioning this to anyone in the Dispatch. I trust I have made myself clear?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Oh, I don’t know. If Grell saw you in that outfit, she might be so appalled that she’ll stop talking to you forever. Unless she just drops dead on the spot.”

He thought for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “I’m not sure which scenario would be preferable.” He rolled up one of his sleeves and checked his wristwatch, sending another jolt of alarm through Ellie. “Now, then. The administrators are expecting you. Come along.” He turned and walked away without waiting to see if she was following him. She grimaced, hiked up her skirts as much as she dared, and trotted after him.

Once they had passed the big-top, the deserted thoroughfares came to life. Swarms of people darted from tent to tent, leading horses and mules or lugging crates full of juggling sticks and throwing knives. There were some women, but the majority were men. Many were half-dressed in costumes as colorful and bright as Spears’s. Some had cosmetics and paint drying on their faces. They ran back and forth with an air of nervous excitement, though Ellie knew from the signboard out front that tonight’s show wouldn’t begin for another eight hours. A few of them glanced in their direction, but none of them stopped to talk.

Spears led her to another blue cloth tent that was slightly smaller than the big-top. Ellie hadn’t noticed it from the entrance because the big-top had blocked it front view. She wondered if it was meant to house smaller shows, but then decided against it since it was too far away from the big-top and blocked off by two rows of sleeping tents. The entrance flaps were peeled back and tied to the roof. The sounds of clanging metal and the thuds of falling bodies wafted out into the open air.

“This is the practice tent,” Spears explained without turning to her. “You will be spending the majority of your time here, should the administrators hire you.”

They ducked through the opening in the tent and were met with a spacious, three-ringed arena. There were no bleachers or places for an audience, but there were a number of large props, from gigantic rubber balls to flammable hoops, littered around the sides and waiting for use. A spider’s web of tightropes and trapezes stretched across the empty air, with plenty of nets ready beneath. About thirty people were scattered throughout the tent, practicing their acts with varying degrees of expertise.

Spears led Ellie around the edge of the tent until they reached a man and a woman, who were lingering on the sidelines and watching the performers with interest. The both of them looked to be in their mid- to late twenties, and their outfits were almost as outlandish as Spears’s. The man wore a checkered purple waistcoat, black trousers that flared at the knee, and a yellow ribbon tied in a bow around his neck, all underneath a purple coat draped rakishly over his shoulders. The woman had no frock, petticoats, or shift, only an impossibly short skirt and a corset that did nothing to cover her chest. The man’s right arm and the woman’s left leg, Ellie noticed, were both prostheses.

The man looked around and beamed at them as they approached. “Hullo there, Suit. Who’ve you got here, then?” He had a slight Irish brogue, and his voice radiated warmth. Next to him, the woman glanced at them, her expression neither warm nor cold.

Spears stopped in front of the man and bowed as he would to Management. “Pardon the interruption. This is Eleanor Howard, whom I mentioned yesterday. As promised, she has come to audition.”

Ellie took up the edge of her skirts and curtsied low. For a second, she was afraid she would lose her balance and fall, but she managed to keep her feet. “Good day to you both. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The man blinked, then burst out laughing. “Blimey, but you talk fancy, don’t you! You sound like a right princess! Not that that’s a bad thing,” he added, seeing the nonplussed look on Ellie’s face. “So, Suit tells me you’re an old friend of his?”

“Suit?”

He clapped Spears’s shoulder hard enough to make the Reaper twitch. “This fellow here. Once you join up, you get a stage name. I’m called Joker, and over here is Beast.” He gestured to the woman.

She ducked her head and nodded somewhat shyly. “‘Lo.”

“I see,” Ellie said. “In that case, er, Suit and I are childhood friends. He told me he was going to run away and join the circus, so I thought I would do the same.”

Joker’s smile turned sly. “Ohhhh, I getcha. Couldn’t stand to be apart, eh? Aren’t you the lucky one, Suit?” He winked and elbowed Spears several times in the side. Spears remained impassive.

“It’s not like that,” Ellie said, fighting genuine offense. “We’re only friends, really. It’s just that I—” She paused and affected a pained expression. “I don’t...have anywhere else to go. Except the...the slums, I suppose.”

Beast’s head shot up, and her expression softened. “You in some sorta trouble, love?”

“Y-Yes.” Then, a little louder, “Yes, I am. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t have anywhere to go. This is the only thing I could think of.” She thought of her sister and managed to moisten her eyes a little.

“Aw, there, there.” Beast reached over and awkwardly patted her shoulder, more from bashfulness than insincerity. “You’ll be all right now. Won’t she, Joker?”

Joker looked sympathetic, but he did not smile. “Well, now. I feel for you, lassie, and I’d like to help in any way I can, but I’m not sure if this would be the best place for you. We are a circus, after all, and we only just barely get by because we have a patron.” He grimaced, looking genuinely pained. “Of course, we’ll give you an audition, but if you aren’t up to snuff...”

“There is no need to worry on that front,” Spears said. “She is far more athletic than I am.”

“Is that right? Well, that’s promising.” He smiled at Ellie. “Suit here is our most promising rookie in years. I’ve never seen a man move like that.”

“Ah. That’s, er, good to hear.” As expected, it sounded as though Spears wasn’t making an effort to hide his Reaper powers. It seemed that she had arrived just in time.

“In that case, we can start the audition whenever you’re ready.” Joker glanced at her face. “Do you need a little while to prepare, or—?”

“No, thank you, I’m ready. I’d like to start with the tightrope, please.”

“Right, then.” He called up to a white-clad figure on the lowest stretch of rope. “Oi, Doll! Got a rookie comin’ up to you! Best clear the way!” The figure raised a hand in acknowledgement and darted across the rope with impressive precision and ease.

Joker pointed to the scaffolding at the edge of the tent, on the tightrope’s right end. “Ladder’s over there. We don’t usually do this, but since the net’s there already, we’ll leave it up for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Ellie said with unaffected calm.

“I’ll bet. Right, in your own time, then.”

Ellie curtsied again, then walked over to the scaffolding with her head high. The ladder was woven from thick white rope. It was sturdy and did not complain when Ellie put her weight on it. Judging that hesitation would work against her, she climbed up quickly and without any trouble.

The figure, Doll, was waiting for her on top of the platform. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a girl barely older than Ciel, dressed in a white frock with a stiff skirt that projected horizontally from the hips, creating a flat circle. One dark blue eye peeked out from beneath a flowered headdress. Ellie smiled and greeted her, but Doll said nothing. There was a long rope in one hand, the other end tied securely to the scaffolding. Silent and businesslike, Doll set about belting the rope around Ellie’s waist. In case she fell, Ellie realized. An extra precaution in case she missed the net, or the net gave way. Doll needn’t have bothered—Ellie was as likely to fall from the tightrope as a human was to fall from a bridge ten feet wide—but of course, it would not be prudent to correct her.

Once she had tied the knot, Doll gave an experimental tug on the rope and nodded in satisfaction. “Scared?” Her voice was quiet and boyish.

“A little,” Ellie said after a moment of thought. All humans were afraid of falling, and too much confidence would be suspicious. “But I feel much better having the rope. Thank you, Doll.” The girl blushed and waved down to the others to signal that all was ready.

“Good luck, lass!” Joker called up. Beast shot her an encouraging Smile, and even Spears looked interested in the proceedings. Some of the other troupe members were watching now, too, and the expressions were an equal mix between eagerness and apprehension.

Ellie took a breath deep enough for the onlookers to see, extended her arms out to either side, and stepped onto the wire.

There was no danger, of course. In search of souls to collect, a Reaper could walk across any solid surface with ease, no matter how narrow it was. The tightrope barely even twitched as Ellie stood on it; she had to practically stomp to make it bend as it would under a human’s weight. If the nightmare scenario happened—if the rope snapped and the net gave way—the fifty-foot drop wouldn’t even bruise her. Obviously, though, she had to act as though she was risking her life, so she calculated every step of the trek. Her movements were slow and uneasy, her arms wobbled and see-sawed, and her expression was fixed with concentration. At one point, about a quarter of the way across, she pretended to lose her balance and regain it at the last possible moment. This drew gasps and shrieks from the onlookers.

“Good grief,” she heard Spears mutter under his breath. “Are you trying to pass, or not?” Joker, too, had an uncertain expression on his face, while Beast could not hide how anxious she looked.

He had a good point. Ellie pulled out of the role and walked on surer, steadier feet. When she reached the halfway point, she paused and considered. _A little showing off would work in my favor. This is a show, after all._ Without moving her upper body, she slid down into a full split. There were gasps below. The tightrope bucked, but she remained cool and solid. She stayed as she was for a full minute, then rose to her feet as though someone had pulled a string on the top of her head. For her final trick, she shimmed around and crossed the rest of the rope backward. Once she was “safely” on the platform, she curtsied to her audience, who burst into supportive applause.

“Very nice,” Joker said when she had climbed down and returned to him. “Bit of a shaky start, but that’s to be expected. You’ve got potential, to be sure.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Anything else you want to show us? We like to see two acts most of the time, if you’ve got ‘em.”

She thought for a moment. What else could she do? Her dagger was tucked into her garter. She only used it in case of an emergency in combat, but she was confident that her aim was accurate enough. Maybe she could use it like a throwing knife. “Well—”

“She is quite skilled with an axe,” Spears interrupted. “Perhaps that might make a noteworthy act.”

All three stared at him with wide eyes. “An _axe_?” Beast echoed. She turned to Ellie, trying and failing to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “What can you do with an axe?”

Ellie blushed. _Spears, you idiot! How am I supposed to hide my powers now?_ More importantly, how was she supposed to explain why a noblewoman had the strength and skill to wield a laborer’s tool? Her tightly-woven persona was coming apart at the seams. “Ah, well, it’s, err, kind of hard to explain.” She grimaced. “The, ah, short version is that I might be able to do a strength act. Sort of.”

“What, with your skinny little arms?”

“I’m, uh, stronger than I look.” She ducked her head and shot Spears a look of venom. His face was as blank as ever.

Joker rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm. It was carved in the shape of a long-fingered, skeletal hand. Ellie, who had glanced over the To-Die List and the background files on the case, felt queasy looking at it. “Hmm. That could be an interesting act.” He smiled and nodded. “All right, we’ll give it a go. Let’s head out then, if you please. Got to be a hatchet somewhere around here.”

Ellie’s heart sank. On top of everything else, she would need to use an unfamiliar tool that was far duller than her own Scythe. She would have to double her strength to cut anything with it. _Damn you, Spears_.

They wandered outside the tent, leaving the rest of the onlookers to their practice. Joker weaved a winding path through the tents, eventually leading them to an open-air pavilion ringed by high wooden walls. Judging by the empty buckets and damp ground, this must have been where the performers bathed. Ellie bit back a groan, longing for the warmth and privacy of her own shower.

Outside the pavilion, the largest man Ellie had ever seen was splitting wood. He was at least seven feet tall and rippling with muscle. He wore no shirt, showing off the intricate red tattoo snaking up his arms over the back of his shaved head.

“Oi, Jumbo!” Joker called out as they walked up to him. “Lend us your hatchet, would ya? This little lady here wants to show us what she can do.”

Jumbo smiled at Ellie, nodded, and handed her the axe. It was longer and heavier than her Scythe, and her hands dropped a bit as they took the unexpected weight. The blade was large and sharp enough for its purpose, but compared to her Scythe, it might as well have been a dull bludgeon. Ellie hefted the axe onto her shoulder, staggering backward as her balance shifted.

“Careful,” Jumbo said in a deep voice. “It’s heavy.” He picked out the smallest and thinnest log he could find from the pile, set it on the ground, and stood back. Ellie stared down at the log, trying to work out how much force she would need and how much she ought to show.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Joker prompted gently.

Ellie took a deep breath and brought the axe down on the log, checking her swing as much as she dared. The blade cleft the log in two with no trouble. The cut was clean, though Ellie frowned at the amount of resistance to the blunt blade. Her Scythe would have cut smoothly as a hot knife through butter.

Joker nodded. “Nicely done. Let’s have another go.” Unbidden, Jumbo went back to the woodpile and retrieved a slightly larger log.

“I beg your pardon,” Ellie said, “but might I have that one instead?” She pointed to the largest log she could see. It was bigger than her head and as thick around as a tree trunk.

Jumbo hesitated. “Are you sure, miss?”

“Quite sure.”

“Go on, Jumbo,” Joker added.

Jumbo nodded and switched out the medium log with the big one. Large and strong as he was, he had to lift the big one with both hands.

This time, Ellie did not hold back. Her arms did not shake, and she did not make a sound. The axe split the trunk in one hit. Two perfect halves fell away from the blade.

“There,” she said with a smile. With one hand, she handed the axe back to Jumbo. “How did you find that?”

Joker clapped his mismatched hands. “Excellent! Very impressive, that was. Folks will come from miles away to see that.” He took her hand in his good one and shook it with the vigor and excitement of a child. “That settles it. Welcome to Noah’s Ark Circus!” Beast and Jumbo grinned and added their congratulations. Spears nodded, more in acknowledgment than in approval.

“Thank you so much!” Ellie said, beaming with pride and relief. “You won’t regret it, I promise!” The smile, though, was only on the surface. That was only the easy part done.


	15. The Curtain Rises

The first order of business was to make a true stagewoman of her. Joker already had the most crucial aspect in mind. “Like I said, everyone here goes by stage names. Most of ‘em have somethin’ to do with our acts. Don’t see why we can’t do the same for you.”

“That sounds good to me.” Ellie smiled hopefully. “I don’t suppose we could base it on the tightrope act at all? I quite enjoyed that.”

“’Fraid not, lassie. There’s all sorts of high-wire acts in our troupe, but no one, man or woman, can handle an axe like you.” He needed less than a minute to come up with a perfect moniker. “Right, then. Beast, Suit, Jumbo, allow me to introduce you to our new little sister, Chop!”

Ellie blinked. “ _Chop_? Really?”

“Yeah, like choppin’ wood with an axe.” He mimed it, his false arm jerking in its socket. “Don’t you like it?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it, per se. I just thought, you know…it’s not very feminine, is it?”

“You’re not very feminine,” Spears pointed out. Ellie scowled at him but decided against open violence in front of her new employers.

Beast smiled wryly. “Think of it this way: it’s better than ‘Beast.’”

“That’s true.”

Joker frowned. “Oh, come on, now. I think both names are lovely.” He then grinned and jabbed Beast playfully in the arm. “And if it fits, it fits.” Beast did not share Ellie’s reservations and immediately smacked Joker upside the head, face reddening. “Ow! All right, all right, I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.” She turned back to Ellie. “C’mon, Chop. Let’s go get you dolled up.”

It took them two hours of searching the various storage tents to find a costume of which Beast’s sense of style approved. Ellie pushed for the more modest and muted garments, but Beast rejected them outright. “You need flashy clothes to get the crowd excited, and the tighter, the better.” She huffed in frustration and picked at her own outfit. “Us girls all hate it, o’ course, but it puts bums in seats, so our patron insists.”

In the end, they were able to compromise on the top. On the one hand, it was sleeveless, low-cut, tight in her chest, and made of the same sparkly material as Spears’s jacket, which turned out to be itchy and irritating. On the other, it was silver with a few large black stars near the hem, so it wasn’t nearly as offensive as Spears’s entire outfit. Beast picked out a black skirt to match that ended up being even shorter than her own. Ellie wouldn’t be able to bend over at all without exposing herself. In terms of warmth, she at least had a pair of black-and-white striped tights that left just an inch of bare skin below the edge of her skirt. They couldn’t find a new pair of shoes that both matched and fit, so she kept her old boots. Out of habit, she topped it off with a black bowler hat and a pair of thin black gloves.

When she was fully dressed, Beast looked her over and nodded. “Pretty good. The gents’ll love that.”

“Fantastic.” She tugged on the hem of her skirt in a vain attempt to stretch it out. “Just what I always wanted out of life.”

Beast giggled behind one hand. “Aw, don’t fret so much. Anyone gets handsy, Jumbo will take care of ‘em for you.”

After they cleaned up, they headed toward another set of tents cut off from the others by a rope fence. The tents were larger than all but the performance tents and made of shimmery lavender fabric. These, Beast explained, were the private tents for the first-tier performers and founding members of the troupe. Joker, Jumbo, and Beast herself all lived here. If Ellie worked hard and became a main attraction, she promised, she might be able to get a private tent as well.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at the rope. “Why are your quarters cut off from everyone else’s? Are you worried about thieves?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, nothing like that. Everyone’s real friendly, and even if they wasn’t, we’d take care of ‘em right quick. No, the rope’s there so no one goes wanderin’ in and gets hurt.”

“Hurt? What do you—?”

Beast suddenly grabbed her arm and jerked her backward. Too late, Ellie heard the hissing. She glanced down and saw a black and brown snake, big around as her arm, rearing up with its mouth open. One more step and she would have gotten a nasty bite.

“Watch where you’re going, missy!” a voice snapped from behind her. “You almost stepped on me!” Then, softer and flatter, “Says Wilde.”

Ellie turned around to see a pale young man with white hair and black clothes walking up to them. His expression was blank, a sharp contrast to his earlier fiery tone. On closer inspection, he appeared to have some sort of skin condition that made it seem like he, too, was covered in scales. Most alarming of all, there were a number of snakes crawling all over him, looped around his arms and legs and sticking out his pockets and sleeves.

“You’re the one who oughta be careful,” Beast said with a frown. “How many times we gotta tell you? Keep your friends locked up durin’ the day so no one gets bit!” The man nodded and hung his head, looking guilty. “Right, as long as you understand. This here is our new member you almost killed. She’s called Chop.”

Ellie curtsied. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr., ah, Wilde.”

The man scowled and spoke again in anger. “ _I’m_ Wilde, you silly girl. Weren’t you paying attention?” The stoic expression returned. “Says Wilde.” The snake, meanwhile, had slithered past Ellie and was crawling up the man’s leg, still hissing.

“Err—”

“This fellow’s called Snake,” Beast explained. “He’s our snake charmer. He named all his friends there, and he likes to talk to people like they’re the ones talking. He’s a bit shy, he is.”

“Oh, I see. Very nice to meet you, Snake.” Snake looked away, cheeks pink. Ellie thought a moment, then addressed the snake that had now coiled itself around the man’s neck. “Wilde, I’m very sorry for almost stepping on you. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“Humph. See that you do. Says Wilde.”

“I will. And everyone else, what are your names?”

As Snake told her, he gave each snake its own voice, changing his pitch and tone at need. “I’m Emily. The name’s Oscar. I’m called Goethe. My name is Wordsworth. I’m Bronte. They call me Webster. My name’s Donne. And I’m Keats.”

“I see. Nice to meet you all as well.”

“Charmed, I’m sure. Says Wordsworth.” One of the snakes, a little green one in Snake’s left sleeve, poked its head out and flicked its tongue at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way or nothin’, but you smell funny. Says Oscar.”

Ellie blinked. “I do? Ah, sorry about that.” She discreetly sniffed her costume but didn’t smell anything offensive.

Beast scowled. “You smell fine, love. Oi, Snake, you can’t just go around tellin’ girls they smell bad, ‘specially if it ain’t true!”

The snake recoiled a little, and his master looked guilty again. “It ain’t bad, just funny. I’ve never met anyone who smells like that, ‘cept maybe Suit. Says Oscar.”

So that was it. The snakes could tell that she wasn’t human. She resolved to keep her distance from now on, just in case. “That’s all right, no harm done. Beast, shall we move on?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Snake, remember what I said, yeah?”

“Not to worry, dearie, we won’t forget. Says Emily.”

They left Snake and his chatty friends behind and went to Beast’s private room. The large tent seemed even more spacious because there were hardly any furnishings. There was only a collapsible cot, a few trunks, a full-length mirror, a few boxes stacked up around the sides, and a vanity with two stools. They each took one of the stools, and Beast began experimenting with her cosmetics. Unlike Grell, who liked to try everything twice and made a huge mess of things, Beast had an idea in mind and made sure, experienced strokes with her brush. She painted Ellie’s lips crimson, powdered her face, lengthened her lashes, gave her sparkling silver eye shadow, and painted one vertical black stripe across her left eye for flair.

As they were cleaning up, they heard a bell ring three times. “Time for lunch,” Beast explained. “We’ll let you off easy ‘cause it’s your first day, but startin’ tomorrow, you’ll help the other rookies with the cookin’ and cleanin’. You won’t poison us, will you?”

“I can certainly promise that much.” In truth, Ellie could cook simple dishes well enough, but she wasn’t confident with cooking for others, having only started since her death.

“Good enough for me. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the mess tent.”

The mess tent was the third-largest structure in the camp, large enough to fit the entire troupe. The inside was packed with trestle tables and long benches, each sagging under the weight of full plates and hungry performers. A long line stretched from out the flaps to the back of the tent, where a little field kitchen was set up and other performers were passing out plates. Ellie smelled cooking meat, and her stomach started growling.

“You’ll be all right on your own from here?” Beast asked her. “First-tier performers get first crack at the food, so…” She shrugged, looking sheepish.

“Of course. Thank you so much for looking after me up until now.” She started to curtsy, remembered the length of her skirt just in time, and settled for holding out her hand instead. Beast shook it, pink in the cheeks, and scurried inside the tent.

Thirty seconds later, she poked her head back out. “Oi, Suit said he got you a plate already.” Her smile turned cheeky. “You’re sure there’s nothin’ goin’ on between you two?”

Ellie grimaced. “Quite sure, thank you. He’s too cold and serious for my liking.”

Beast frowned. “Serious, eh? Cold I’ll grant you, but Suit’s been jokin’ non-stop since he arrived. All this occult stuff, Grim Reapers and whatnot. It’s good for a giggle, but I can see how a girl might find it creepy.”

A stab of panic shot through her. Exactly how much about their kind had Spears already revealed? “Er, right. Thank you for letting me know.” She stepped out of line and followed on Beast’s heels through the entrance flaps.

She spotted Spears’s obscene jacket immediately. Despite the crowded benches, he was sitting more or less alone, picking at an untouched plate of bangers and mash. When Ellie took the seat across from him, he pushed the plate and pewter silverware over to her. “Here you are. I can’t stomach this swill.”

 _So this is what he calls saving me a plate, huh?_ Still, it was nice of him to think of her, not to mention surprising. Ellie cut off a bit of sausage and took a dainty bite. It was burned and over-seasoned with pepper, but still edible. Spears handed her his untouched mug of ale to cool her tongue.

Ellie dropped her voice beneath the drone of conversations and chewing. “What on earth were you thinking back there, blabbing about the axe? I’m trying to act like a proper lady here, and proper ladies don’t know how to swing axes.”

“Proper ladies do not join the circus, either,” Spears pointed out. “I calculated the risk and considered it justified. Your presence is imperative while there is vermin roaming about, and your sorry showing atop the tightrope would not have been enough to secure a place here. I judged that you would be far more impressive demonstrating a practiced skill, and so you were.”

Ellie could feel her temper rise and distracted herself with some more sausage. “And did you consider it ‘justified’ to drop hints—no, I take it back, to _openly allude_ to what’s really going on? I’ve read your reports, and the first-tier performers are already picking up on your ‘occult jokes’.”

Spears met her gaze evenly for a few seconds, then sighed and adjusted his glasses. “I am the first to admit that I am not suited for this sort of work. I would much rather concentrate on the work suitable to my job description. However, given the deaths and disgraces plaguing our department, I have no choice but to carry on to the best of my ability.” He bowed his head formally. “I would be grateful if you would assist me in purporting myself properly.”

Ellie’s anger fizzled out, and she looked away. “Yes, well. Management hasn’t pulled you from the mission, so they can’t be too upset with your performance. You should be fine as long as you don’t mention the Dispatch again. Try to remember that you’re playing the part of an ordinary human. Just act as you did, you know, back then.”

He frowned. “That was a lifetime ago. I don’t remember it anymore.” His clouded eyes, a darker green than usual, told a different story. Sobered, Ellie left him to his memories and attacked her plate to stave off her own.

When the line had tapered off and everyone had eaten, Joker stood at the front of the tent and clapped his hands to get the troupe’s attention. “Right, you lot! Seein’ as we’re all together, I’ve an announcement to make before we start preppin’ for curtain.” His eyes scanned the rows of upturned faces until they landed on Ellie’s. “Chop, join me up here, would you?” Ellie obediently rose and walked over to stand beside him. He clapped his false hand on her shoulder, making her jump. “This here’s the newest member of our family, Chop. She talks a bit funny, but she’s a good lass, and her act is somethin’ special. Make her feel welcome, all right?”

Ellie bowed as far as she dared, one hand holding down her skirt. “Pleased to meet you all. I look forward to working with all of you.”

The troupe burst into applause, every face smiling. A couple people banged plates and tankards on the tables to add to the noise, and one young first-tier sitting next to Beast put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Ellie flushed at the attention. It was nice to feel wanted for once, even if it wouldn’t last.

Joker waited for the noise to die down before speaking again. “Might as well get the lot sorted out while we’re here already. Ladies, who’s got a spare bunk.” Half a dozen hands went up. Joker pointed at the one held highest with its fingers stretching to grasp an extra inch. “Rider, you look eager enough. Can you take it from here?”

“Yes, sir,” Rider said. She was a dark-skinned girl no older than seventeen, wearing a hot pink, sequined, and sleeveless one-piece.

“Good lass. Right, that’s it for announcements. Curtains up in four hours, first guests in three. Let’s give ‘em a night to remember!” The troupe cheered. In small groups, they stood up, stacked their dirty dishes on the edge of the tables, and darted out, leaving only a few rookies behind to clean up. Joker squeezed Ellie’s shoulder, winked, and returned to the other first-tier members, who were making their way out at a more leisurely pace.

No sooner had he left than Rider ran up to her with her hand extended. Ellie took it and nearly got her arm wrenched from her socket, so enthusiastic was the shake. “Chop, right? I’m Rider, your new roommate. Good to know you!” She showed off a mouthful of snow-white teeth.

“You as well. Let me guess: you’re a trick rider?”

She flushed. “I will be, soon as I figure out how to stay on the bloody horse. What’s your act, then? Gonna chop vegetables on stage, make everyone a stew? That’d be popular with the guests.”

“Er, that’s not quite sorted out yet. I guess it’s a surprise?”

“I’ll take that. I love surprises.” She glanced out the entranceway of the tent. The winter sun was already past its zenith. “We’ve got some time before they need us to help prep tonight’s cast. How much of the place have you seen so far?”

“Not much.”

“Figured. How’s about I give you a tour and show you where you’ll kip, and we’ll see how many names you can learn in an hour?”

Ellie grinned, infected by the girl’s good cheer. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you for taking the time to show me around.”

Rider waved a hand dismissively. “Aw, don’t mention it. That’s what family’s for, right? And we’re family now.” She took a startled Ellie’s hand and dragged her out of the mess tent.

Before they could get too far, Suit stopped them outside the entrance flaps. “A moment, Chop. I neglected to wish you luck on your first day earlier. Not that you need it, of course; I have every confidence that you will fit in well.” He held out a hand, the movement stiff.

Ellie frowned. It wasn’t like Spears to seek out someone to talk about anything non-work-related, let alone compliment them. “Thank you, Suit.” She shook Spears’s hand and felt him deposit something on her palm. As the handshake broke, she balled her fist around the object and let her hand casually drop to her side. Spears nodded and walked off with his shoulders hunched. Above him, a pigeon took off from its roost on top of a supply tent.

“Weird bloke,” Rider observed. “D’you know him already?”

“Yes, he and I were friends before we came here. He’s nice, when you get to know him.”

Rider didn’t look convinced. “Hmm. Well, whatever. Let’s go make you some new friends.” She started down the row of tents, Ellie close on her heels.

When Ellie was sure Rider wasn’t looking, she opened her fist and unfolded the piece of paper Spears had given her, taking care not to let it crinkle. There were three short lines written in Freeman’s stark script:

_S. and E.P. on the move. Audience tonight, infiltration tomorrow. Be careful._

-

After a whirlwind tour of the compound and a quick look at the bunk beds in the tent she would share with Rider (the latter claiming the top bunk), Ellie was pressed into service preparing for that night’s show. The “backstage area,” as it were, was a long and low tent hidden within the shadows of the larger big-top, inaccessible from the main thoroughfare. The main cast—which consisted entirely of the first-tier performers—used the backstage tent to dress, apply cosmetics, warm up. The rookies helped them into their costumes and fetched whatever they might need. No one expected Ellie to do anything on her own yet, but Joker asked her to shadow Rider for the time being as she ran around with forgotten props and extra fasteners. By the time the cast went to take their places in the big-top, both of them were exhausted, leaning against tables and guzzling water.

As soon as she heard the first roar of the excited audience, though, Rider perked up. “Sounds like we’ve got a good crowd tonight. Want to go take a peek?”

Ellie hesitated. She had memorized Freeman’s note and tossed it into the cooking fire at dinner. If Freeman was right and Sebastian was in the audience tonight, she didn’t want to alert him to her presence just yet. Better to keep an eye on him from a distance and possibly catch him off-guard. If she were anywhere near the big-top, he was sure to catch sight or smell of her.

Rider saw the look on Ellie’s face and clasped her hands in a begging motion. “Aw, c’mon! It’s not like we’re not allowed. They don’t need us for anything unless they do an encore, and that’s way off. One quick peek, just to keep us motivated in training, please?”

Ellie groped for an excuse and came away empty-handed. “All right, let’s go.” Rider squealed in delight, grabbed her by the wrist again, and dragged her outside and over to the big-top.

There was a small gap between the folds of cloth, enough for both girls to peek through from either side without widening it. For a moment, the spotlights blinded Ellie, but after some rapid blinking, she could see everything in the tent easily. Joker was in the center ring, juggling as he introduced the next act. Above him, two childlike figures—Peter and Wendy, Ellie remembered—swung and flew on the trapeze. Other performers posed on the sidelines, still as statues as they waited their turns. The stands were packed with people, men and women, young and low, rich and poor, all cheering with delight at the acrobatic display above them.

Ellie spotted Ciel and Sebastian right away, seated four rows up in the middle. Neither of them were watching the show. Instead, their eyes darted left and right, scanning the other performers. Ciel’s mouth moved, and Ellie caught the word “children.” Sebastian shook his head almost imperceptibly, his nostrils flaring. _They must be looking for the missing children_ , Ellie realized. Well, they wouldn’t find them here. Almost all of them—the ones that hadn’t been kidnapped yet—were at the manor in Yorkshire, awaiting their deaths.

A she watched, Sebastian blinked and turned his head to stare in her direction. No, at her. The sudden flare in her right hand confirmed it. Ellie let out a little hiss of pain and scrambled away from the opening, clutching her brand. _He saw me. He definitely saw me._ As though confirming, the Mark grew burned hotter. _It’s never done that before._

“What’s wrong?” Rider asked, her eyes wide. “Are you hurt?”

Ellie paused for only half a second, then dropped her throbbing hand onto her stomach. “Not exactly. I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden.”

The look of shock changed to one of sympathy. “Is it your blood?”

Ellie considered, weighing her options. _I need to watch him_ , she thought, but the knots in her stomach only tightened. “I think the sausage didn’t agree with me.” She made her breathing labored and put her left hand over her mouth. It was only half an act, to her surprise. _Get a grip on yourself, would you?_ Her Mark blazed again, and this time, she whimpered.

“Urgh, I told them to leave off with the pepper,” Rider was saying in disgust. “Half the camp will be on their backs by morning, but did they listen to me? Of course not.” She put her hand on Ellie’s shoulder, brow furrowed. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll walk you back, and if anyone asks, I’ll say I sent you off to fetch something.”

Ellie dropped her hand from her mouth and hugged herself around the middle. “N-No, that’s all right,” she said in a tight voice. “I remember the way back. Thank you, though.”

“Sure. Feel better soon.”

She nodded once and staggered away. Once she was out of Rider’s field of vision, she straightened up and walked back to the tent they shared, struggling not to move too quickly or with too much alarm. As soon as she was inside with the flaps drawn, she stretched out her uninjured hand and called her Death Scythe to her. The familiar weight materialized in her hand, giving her instant relief. _If anyone asks, I’ll say I found it in one of the storage tents._ She sat down on the lower bunk with her Scythe across her lap, waiting.

Everything was still all right, she reasoned with herself. Sebastian might have seen her, but he might only interpret that as her surveilling him as usual. Even if he had seen her outfit and realized she was operating undercover, what did it matter? It wouldn’t affect the collection in anyway. The worst he could do was get in Spears’s way while he conducted preliminary investigations, and the worst that could come of that would be that Spears would work longer hours on the collection. There wasn’t any problem here.

So why did she feel so anxious at the thought of facing him again?

_He’s just another demon. I’ve killed scores of them. There’s nothing to be afraid of._

Except that wasn’t true. Her Cinematic Record had reminded her of that. She had relived that particular memory every night since Charlotte had cut it out of her. Each time, she woke in a cold sweat, tears in her eyes and a scream on her lips. Even during the day, she could still see those cold, loving eyes every time she closed her own.

 _I don’t know for sure that he’s Victor_ , she reminded herself. _There’s been a logical explanation for everything he knows, every time._

From the back of her mind, a little voice spoke up. _You don’t know anything else about him, either._

That was true enough. Since joining the Dispatch, all the other demons she had faced had been feral and uncontracted, seeking souls at random with their brutality plain to see. Sebastian did not act as they did. He was secretive, sly, and calculating. He soothed and reassured until his prey could no longer see his claws. He acted…well, like Victor.

 _He can’t eat me, though. Demons can’t eat Reaper souls. So why is he fucking around with me like this? What does he want from me?_ Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with an answer.


	16. Black

Following a restless night, Ellie was already awake when Rider leaned over the side of the top bunk and prodded her. They were on the breakfast crew this morning, she explained, and they had to get an early start in order to cook enough food for everyone. To stave off the chill and preserve their costumes from stains, they dressed in street clothes. Rider wore a peeling pair of boots, a ragged, secondhand black frock that exposed her ankles and wrists, and nothing else—no hat, stockings, or gloves. Ellie had only brought the one outfit, so she wore it again today.

As they walked in the pre-dawn cold, Rider chattered in an upbeat whisper. Ellie had pretended to sleep when she came in the night before, and now she wanted to make up for lost time. “You’re feeling better now, right? You look better than you did last night. Still kinda pale, though.”

“Yes, thank you, I feel much improved. I, er, think it’s all out of my system now.”

“That’s a relief. We’ll tell the other blokes to go easy on the pepper, eh?” She sighed. “I wish you could’ve seen the end of the show with me last night, though. It was really something special.”

“Did the first-tier members perform well?”

“’Course they did. They always do. That’s why they’re the first-tier, ain’t it?” She clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her giggles. “No, I meant the very end. The last act, Beast’s act. You know she’s an animal trainer, right? Makes ‘em go through flamin’ hoops and stuff?”

“I thought it was something like that.”

“Right, well, she brought out Betty—that’s the tiger—and Joker asked for volunteers like he always does. The guest is supposed to lie down, and Betty puts her jaws ‘round their head but doesn’t bite. Only this bloke, he walks right up to Betty and puts his hands all over her, cooing like she’s nothin’ worse than a kitten! And o’ course, he gets bit for his cheek, right on the head!”

Ellie’s gait faltered a little. It occurred to her that Sebastian had secretly adopted a stray cat on the estate, and he coddled it as much as any lonely old spinster would. Her lips twitched at the thought of him getting torn apart by a tiger. “My, that’s horrible. I’m glad I didn’t see that. Was he hurt very badly?”

“That’s the thing! He got up and walked about like it was nothin’! And later, Joker told me how he took the bloke to see Doc, but Doc couldn’t find anythin’ wrong! Think of that—bit by a tiger, and not hurt at all! Can you believe it?”

In fact, she could. If demons treated bullet wounds like stubbed toes, then animal bites wouldn’t even break their skin. _A shame, though._ “What a relief. I’m so glad he wasn’t seriously injured.”

“Same here, but that’s not even the best part. When he was in the med tent, he and Dagger got into a spat, and Dagger started throwing his knives, but the bloke dodged every single one! Joker was so impressed that he invited him to join us on the spot.”

Ellie felt her heart begin to pound again and took a deep breath to calm herself. _Knock it off already. This is no different than usual. No different at all._ “Really? He doesn’t need to audition?”

“Joker saw him hoppin’ and flippin’ about like a cricket, so he’s satisfied. There _is_ going to be an audition today, though. The bloke wants to bring someone else with him, and Joker’s not gonna just let him in without lookin’ at him first.”

That had to be Ciel. Ellie was surprised he was willing to dirty his own hands with this investigation. In spite of everything, it seemed he really did take his role as the Queen’s Watchdog seriously, short-lived as it would be. She was impressed and glad that he still had something he could hold on to. It was too bad that his infiltration would be a waste of time.

By the time they arrived at the mess tent, there were eight others there already, stoking fires and scouring pans. Rider presented Ellie to a man she called the team leader, a slight and wiry acrobat called Flip, before taking her place beside a five-foot-wide griddle. Flip explained how cooking duty worked—rotating teams of ten worked each shift, with one team working every other mealtime—and then asked her about her cooking skills. He seemed pleased that she had some experience already, but since it was her first time, he let her off easy and assigned her to prepare the tea. Ellie, only competent in the kitchen, was happy to oblige.

Flip showed her the water barrels and the stove where she would heat the four kettles, then left her to her own devices. It took a few minutes for her to get used to the primitive stove, as Reaper technology had far outstripped it, but she soon got a nice rhythm going. Everyone chatted, laughed, and asked her questions as she worked, and she managed to enjoy herself in the friendly atmosphere. Flip came back a little while later, tasted a cup, and pronounced it good enough to serve.

After about an hour, one of the cooks went outside and rang the bell. The first-tier members trickled in, looking varying levels of tired. Peter, Wendy, and Jumbo yawned hugely every few seconds, and there were dark circles under Beast’s and Doll’s eyes. Snake’s movements were sluggish, his pets still and quiet. Only Joker and Dagger were energetic, greeting everyone behind the counter. When they were all together, the first-tier members grabbed plates from the far edge of the table and went single-file down the line, holding out their plates for the cooks to serve.

“Thanks much, lass,” Joker said as Ellie handed him a steaming cup. “By the by, hope you didn’t get used to being the newbie, ‘cause you’ll have at least one junior to look after by the end of the day.”

“Yes, Rider told me there would be another audition today.”

“Right you are, but one of the two’s already set to join us.” He winked. “And he’s a handsome fellow, too, so if you’re looking for something _other_ than friendship, you’d do well there.”

Ellie smiled with thin lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Next to Joker, Beast scowled. “Don’t you listen to him, Chop,” she said as she took her cup. “That newcomer’s a right scoundrel, not to mention a pervert. You stay well away from him.”

“Of course, but did something happen?”

“I’ll say!” Dagger cut in. His eyes flashed, and his cheeks flooded with angry color. “The bastard touched Miss Beast’s skin and spread her legs without so much as a by-your-leave! He might be talented, but that doesn’t mean he can forgo around bein’ as familiar as he wants!”

Ellie’s eyes widened. _A demon, making sexual advances on a human woman_ …her stomach knotted, and a deep chill went through her. She shook her head to shove away the memories that threatened to flood it. “That’s terrible! Beast, are you all right?”

Her furious expression softened a little at Ellie’s concern. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. To be honest, it wasn’t exactly my skin he touched. Just my fake leg.” She rapped her knuckles on the prosthetic, producing a dull, hollow thump.

Ellie handed Dagger a cup with shaky hands. “All the same, that’s a terrible thing to do to someone. I’m sorry that happened.”

“Cheers.” Validated, Beast smiled and moved on.

Peter, Wendy, and Jumbo took their cups without speaking, though Jumbo smiled at her. Doll mumbled her thanks, not looking at her. When it was Snake’s turn, Ellie gave him a couple extra cups full of fresh water. “For your friends.”

Snake blinked, bit his lip, and ducked his head in embarrassment. It took him a moment to gather enough of himself to translate. “Thank you kindly, says Keats.” He scurried away without looking at her.

When all the first-tier members were seated and eating, someone rang the bell twice in a row. Within a seconds, a mob of hungry performers rushed the table. The orderly line Ellie had seen yesterday broke up the closer it got to the front, when the scent of fresh food made the performers wild. The aggressive ones left with full plates, while the timid went hungry. Ellie tried her best to give a cup to everyone, but only so many people were able to push their way to the front. Spears was one of them, and he took his cup with something like relief. The long hours must have been taking their toll; his face was pale and drawn.

Only when everyone had taken their share could the kitchen crew eat what was left. Most people had squirreled away a couple morsels at various points in the shift, so they had plenty to fill their stomachs. Rider brought over a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and fried bread to share with Ellie. The latter’s appetite had shriveled up, but she forced herself to nibble on some bread and bacon. If Sebastian was coming, she would need to keep her strength up. She also quaffed two cups of tea, scalding her tongue but unsuccessful in warming the cold pocket in her chest.

The rest of the day was a blur. Ellie and Rider heated two buckets of water over the cookfire and brought them back to their tent, where they stripped down and dumped the buckets over their heads in a makeshift shower. Once they had toweled their hair dry and dressed in their costumes, they set off for the training grounds. Rider saddled a black mare and cantered around the edge of the tent, trying to hang off the saddle or do handstands but falling off every time. Meanwhile, Ellie did strength training with Jumbo, lifting progressively heavier barrels and sacks of flour. She could have lifted any of them easily with one hand, but she made a show of struggling under their weight. Still, Jumbo looked satisfied with her progress.

“You have potential,” he told her. “When you build your muscles a little, you’ll be able to cut the bigger logs without any effort. Maybe even things besides wood. Once you do that, you’ll be a regular cast member in no time.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ellie said. She felt a little ache in her heart as she trained. Jumbo was one of the souls marked on the To-Die List for the 9th, although he would not be part of the big collection in Yorkshire. In fact, with the exception of Snake, all of the first-tier members would be dead in three days. _I have to watch how I interact with them. I can’t get attached._

At four o’clock, Joker poked his head in and invited anyone who was interested to watch the audition. The second newcomer was an adorable child, he said, so whatever happened would certainly be interesting. A good twenty people followed him out but Ellie stayed and helped Rider catch her runaway horse. When the group moved back to the training grounds for the tightrope part of the audition, she slipped out the back. She wanted a little more time to prepare herself.

At five o’clock, Joker sent runners throughout the camp to call everyone into the big-top. Rider found Ellie in their tent, and the two of them made it back in time to catch the beginning of Joker’s announcement. “Everyone, allow me to introduce our two new brothers. The big one here is Black, and the little one is Smile. Treat them well, all right?”

Ellie stood on tiptoes and craned her neck to see over the heads of the people in front of her. Sebastian and Ciel stood next to Joker, dressed in their new costumes. Sebastian’s outfit was similar to his regular butler uniform, except he wore a lavender ribbon with a skull-shaped clip instead of a necktie. He had also added a top hat with a purple silk band, and someone had painted a purple stripe down his right eye. Ciel’s costume was much more elaborate. He wore a puffy white shirt with black stripes, a black vest, jodhpur-like blue shorts, a purple ribbon around his neck, and a jaunty royal blue hat with a pale blue feather. There were three purple diamonds painted beneath his left eye. Unlike Sebastian, he looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at his clothes and blushing under the scrutiny of his new coworkers.

The troupe was murmuring its welcome, every face warm. Ellie forced herself to sound bright as she added her voice to theirs. Sebastian’s eyes flicked to her face briefly, but he did not react. The Mark of the Covenant warmed beneath her glove. She clenched her fist and sank back onto her heels, grinding her teeth. As Ciel stumbled through a greeting, she turned around and walked out. She looked around the deserted thoroughfare, then summoned her Scythe to her hand, just in case.

Back in the training grounds, she found Spears practicing on the tightrope, holding his Death Scythe horizontally for balance. There was no one else around, so they could talk freely. “Hey!” she called up. “Sebastian and his master just got introduced as the new members. Have a care while you’re doing your examinations.”

Spears sighed loud enough for Ellie to hear him fifty feet down. “I trust you’ll prevent him from stealing away the necessary souls?”

“Of course. Make sure you keep it together, okay? No matter what he says to you, don’t let the rest of the troupe know about him, or us. Got it?”

“Quite.”

“Good.” She walked over to an open space outside of the rings and swung her Scythe at nothing, trying to rid herself of her nervous energy. Each swing made her a little angrier.

Gradually, people filed back in and took up their places. Rider was one of the first, coming to check on her. “What’s the matter? You ran outta there pretty quick. Didn’t you wanna meet the newcomers?”

Ellie forced herself to smile, clutching her Scythe a little too hard. “Oh, um…this is a little embarrassing, but I wanted to wait until there were fewer people around. I’m a little shy, you know?”

To her relief, Rider nodded in sympathy. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t worry, though. Everyone’s real nice.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “I suppose I can’t blame you. That Black is a pretty one. I’d be shy around him, too.” Ellie jokingly jabbed the handle of her Scythe at her, and she leapt away, laughing.

Ellie was just starting to feel calm again when Joker led Sebastian and Ciel into the tent. He must have given them their tour personally. Ellie grimaced and turned her back, but she was too late. “Hey, Chop!” Joker called out. “C’mere a sec!”

She scowled at the ground, then affixed a pleasant smile on her face and jogged over to them. “Hello, Joker. Can I help you with something?” Her eyes darted to each of the newcomers in turn, still smiling. Ciel’s eye widened and his mouth fell open as he recognized her, but he recovered quickly and affected shy curiosity. Sebastian kept his polite smile firmly in place, but Ellie saw his eyes turn just a little bit darker.

Joker was oblivious to the tension. “Black, Smile, this here’s Chop. She only joined us yesterday, so she’s still learnin’, too.” He turned to Ellie. “These two tell me they were servants in a fancy manor house before comin’ here. You worked for the gentry, too, didn’t you? You talk the same as they do, and all.”

She fidgeted, tapping the flat of her Scythe against her leg. “Something like that, yes.”

Joker beamed. “Then you oughta get along well, eh? Make sure you teach ‘em what you know and help them out as much as you can. You’re all in the same boat, so you should rely on each other.”

“Understood.” She turned to the others. “I’m very pleased to meet you both. Let’s work hard together to become first-rate performers.” She held out her hand.

Ciel took it first with the light and courteous grip of an aristocrat. “N-Nice to meet you as well, Chop. I’m Smile.”

Ellie’s mouth twitched. _Who’s the genius who gave this grim child a name like that? Someone around here has a poor sense of humor._ “How old are you, Smile?”

He hesitated, most likely calculating what a stranger would believe, given his small frame. “Th-Thirteen.”

“Almost an adult, then. I imagine you’ll get a lot of female fans.” In a fit of mischief, she stuck her Scythe under her arm (blade behind her), took off his hat with one hand, and ruffled his hair with the other. “Since you’re so cute, and all.”

Ciel went rigid under her touch, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles went white. Two splotches of color burned high in his cheeks, but the rest of his face was drained and ghastly. Ellie immediately retracted her hand and replaced his hat with a guilty smile. After a second, Ciel remembered himself and let out a nervous giggle.

Shaken a little but not letting it show, Ellie turned her attention to an expectant Sebastian. She forced herself to look impressed. “And you’re Black, right? Wow. Whatever fans Smile gets, you’ll steal them away in no time. Although, ‘cute’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe you.”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Oh? Am I to take that as a compliment?”

She winked. “You may take it however you please.” _Christ, I need another wash. Or maybe I’ll just walk into town and drown myself in the Thames._ “At any rate, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended a hand.

“And you as well.” Sebastian shook her hand, crushing it so hard that her fingerbones audibly cracked. Her Mark seared. One eye twitched, but she showed no other sign of pain. She squeezed back until her arm trembled, but Sebastian only looked amused.

When they had extricated themselves, Ellie took her Scythe in her left hand and rubbed the back of her right hand against her tights, trying to soothe the pain. “So, have either of you decided on your acts yet?”

“Not yet,” Ciel answered. “I’m hoping to be a knife-thrower, but I’m happy to learn anything that doesn’t require heights.”

Ellie glanced at his scrawny arms in doubt. Come to think of it, he didn’t seem like he had the physical prowess to perform any sort of circus act, let alone knife-throwing. It was a miracle that he had made it through the audition—or it would have been, had the intervention been more divine.

As though reading her mind, Sebastian’s smile turned mischievous. “I have no preferences.”

Ellie thought a moment. “Well, that’s something you’ll have to work out with one of the first-tier performers.” She glanced around but saw none of them; they must have been onstage already. “For right now, why don’t you do some stretches, and when one of them comes back, you can work out something more specialized?”

Ciel nodded his assent, but Sebastian wanted to continue playing. “If I may ask, what sort of act will you perform, Miss Chop?”

Ellie smiled and showed them her Scythe, making sure to hold it so they could see the sharpness of the blade. “It’s a sort of strength act. I’m going to be chopping wood on stage.”

Ciel smirked. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

“Not if someone like Jumbo was doing it, sure. When it’s a young lady, though, the novelty factor will bring in big crowds—or so Joker tells me, anyway. It will be the same for you, since you’re so young.” Ciel scowled but said nothing. “The one who will really have to work hard to stand out is Black. Don’t worry, though. I want you to succeed, so I’ll be _keeping an eye on you_.”

Sebastian, unimpressed with her threat, bowed at the waist. “I appreciate your efforts.”

Out of patience, Ellie left them to their warm-ups and went back to her own area, where she swung her Scythe with increasing force and irritation. As she practiced, she watched Ciel and Sebastian out of the corner of her eye. They spent the whole time stretching (the latter with flexibility and strength, the former with pain and suffering) and muttering to themselves. From what she could tell, they were discussing the missing children and their plan for their investigation. Neither had noticed Spears, who was still on the tightrope. Or rather, Sebastian was pretending not to notice him for reasons of his own. That was fine by Ellie. The fewer opportunities Spears had to blab about his true nature, the better.

That particular state of affairs only lasted as long as it took for Dagger to finish his act and come check on the newcomers. After giving them another quick physical test (in which Sebastian threw inconspicuousness out the window by performing feats of athleticism that were physically impossible for a human), he called for Suit to come and meet his juniors. Ellie watched in dread as Spears promptly forgot every warning she ever gave him, specifically by extending his Death Scythe to ground level, leaping from the wire to land right in front of Sebastian, and pointing the blade at the demon’s throat.

“Good grief,” he grumbled. “There are hardly enough Reapers to get the job done even at the best of times, and now a demon has come to vex me. What manner of soul are you sniffing after to devour now?”

Dagger stared at him in disbelief. “Reaper? Demon? What’s all this…?”

“Fucking _hell_ , sir,” Ellie hissed under her breath. She couched her Scythe and raced over to them, but before she could open her mouth, Dagger playfully smacked Spears on the forehead. “Aw, come off it with those occult jokes o’ yours! Your mug’s so serious, I can’t tell when you’re havin’ a go!” A couple other performers laughed along with him, unconcerned by Spears’s words.

Spears raised an eyebrow. “I am not—”

Ellie skidded to a halt next to him, wrapped one arm around his shoulders, and discreetly dug the heel of her boot into his foot. “You heard him, Suit, that’s quite enough.” She turned to Sebastian, her smile fixed. “I’m sorry about him. He hasn’t quite grown out of those delusions of grandeur little boys are so fond of. If he says something odd, you can ignore him.”

Sebastian nodded, his expression cool. “I believe I shall do just that.”

From there, Dagger led the formal introductions and expressed a wish that all the rookies would get along. While Ellie and the Phantomhive contingent were more than willing to play along, Spears simply muttered another insult and stalked away. To Ellie’s alarm, Sebastian went after him, requesting a private word for some advice, senior to junior.

As Ellie started to follow, Rider cut her off and took her arm. “C’mon, Chop! The first-tier folk are working up an appetite, so we better cook up somethin’ good for dinner!”

She hesitated, glancing after the two supernatural beings. Her orders were to monitor Sebastian’s condition and make sure Spears didn’t blow his cover, but at the same time, skipping out on too many circus activities would make her seem suspicious. She bit back a curse and smiled at Rider. “Of course. Let’s go.”

As they left the training tent, Rider wiggled her eyebrows at her. “What’d I tell you, eh? That Black’s real easy on the eyes, ain’t he?”

Ellie grit her teeth. “If you like that sort of thing, yes.”

“What, you don’t? ‘Cause I was watching, and I think he likes your sort of thing, if you know what I mean.”

“Goody.”

-

When the lights were out and Rider was snoring gently above her, Ellie made her move. She rolled out of bed, dressed, and slipped out into the cold with Scythe in hand. She knew exactly where she needed to go, as Spears had spent all of dinner complaining about it to her. He and Sebastian would be roommates, sharing Tent 9.

The thoroughfare was dark and silent, but not quite deserted. Ellie had barely gone ten steps away from her tent when she ran into Beast, who wore a dark gray coat over her costume. They both jumped, looking a little guilty.

Beast was first to recover. “Uh, hey, Chop. What are you doin’ wanderin’ around? It’s pretty late.”

The lie came easily. “I had trouble sleeping, so I’m going to go to the training grounds and tire myself out.” She gestured to her Scythe. “What about you?”

She, too, managed the lie. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, either. Thought I’d get some fresh air.”

Ellie nodded. “Good luck, then. Stay warm.”

“You, too. Careful of creeps.”

They went off in opposite directions. When she was sure Beast wasn’t looking, Ellie snuck behind a tent and watched Beast sneak outside of the circus grounds. There were a couple other shapes waiting for her beyond the arch; Ellie squinted and recognized all of the first-tier performers, minus Snake. When they were all together, they turned and raced off in the direction of the city. Off to steal another child, whom Spears would collect in just three days. Ellie clenched her fists but did not go after them. She had her own job to do.

Counting backward from her own tent, Ellie managed to find Tent 9 without too much trouble. She looked around, confirming there was no one nearby, and whispered into her hand. “Hey, Sebastian. Come out here. We need to talk.”

She heard the creak of the bedframe as the weight on top of it shifted, followed by the familiar _shink_ of Spears’s Death Scythe extending. “And where do you think you’re going?” Spears said in a voice unclouded by sleep. “I thought I made myself clear earlier. I will not, under any circumstances, allow you to wander about without your master’s supervision.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ellie growled. She took one more glance around, then slipped through the flaps into the tent. There were no lights on, but she could see clearly. The furnishings were identical to those of her own tent. Sebastian was sitting up on the top bunk, legs dangling over the side in preparation for jumping down. He had taken off his shoes and tailcoat but was otherwise dressed normally. Spears, dressed in striped cotton pajamas, was pointing his Scythe up at Sebastian with one hand and putting on his spectacles with the other.

As Ellie walked in, Spears used the hand not brandishing his Scythe to pull the blanket up beneath his chin. “What are you doing, Eleanor Howard? Sneaking into a man’s tent after hours will cause problems for both of us.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Those problems won’t be nearly as bad as the problems you’re causing me. Did I not specifically tell you to leave him be?”

Spears pointed up to a smirking Sebastian. “This noxious beast is trying to leave the tent and wander about unsupervised. As our living arrangements meant that you were not able to watch him, I took it upon—”

“I appreciate you being proactive, Mr. Spears, but I called for Sebastian to come out. We have some things to discuss.”

Spears raised an eyebrow. “This is most irregular.”

“Noted. Now, for the last time, monitoring demons is a Security matter, so will you please focus on your own work?”

As expected, Spears responded well to the concept of strictly assigned duties. “Very well. I’ll leave this to you, then.” He retracted his Death Scythe, set it aside, and lay back down.

“Thank you.” She beckoned to Sebastian and left without waiting for him. Even though she didn’t hear his feet hit the ground, she could sense him following close behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she quickened her pace.

They walked until they reached the fence marking the edge of the circus grounds. There were no tents nearby, but Ellie still spoke in a low voice. “Right. We need to get all this sorted before anything else. My health’s better now, so I’ll be taking over your surveillance again. You know that, right?”

He inclined his head. “Indeed, and I am very glad that we will be working together again. Still, I must admit that I was shocked to see you take on this sort of role. Would it not be easier to watch me from afar, as you have always done?”

“It would, but I’m also here to watch Mr. Spears. As you’ve probably noticed, he’s having some trouble adjusting to this sort of upfront work.”

He chuckled. “I did notice, in fact.” His smile faded a little, and his eyes glinted. “While we’re on the subject, might I ask what manner of work he is doing?”

Ellie blinked, then smiled. “This is your idea of intelligence-gathering, is it? Just outright asking?” Sebastian only smiled expectantly, which made her stifle a laugh. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t know all the details for his assignment, just mine. You’re better off asking him yourself.”

“I have the sneaking suspicion my efforts will be fruitless.” The glint in his eyes hardened. “Are you quite sure you’re being honest with me, Miss Howard?”

Ellie met his gaze evenly. “I am being as honest with you as you have ever been with me.” He stared at her, then nodded, conceding. “We’re getting off-topic. If we’re going to be in this sort of proximity every day, then I want to get some answers out of you. Real answers.”

“By all means, ask away.” The look on his face, though, plainly denied a promise to answer properly.

Ellie’s hands tightened on her Scythe. She would get nowhere by hemming and hawing, wondering what might or might not be the case. The only way to change her situation was to take action. Victor had taught her that. “First of all, what was that you were doing with my brand?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She stuck her Scythe under one arm, yanked of her right glove, and held up the back of her hand. The Mark was more clearly defined against her skin, dark and swollen. “You know already, right? I got this the night I died. Victor started to form a contract with me, but before it could fully take, I killed myself.”

“I thought as much.” His eyes were fully crimson now. “Ordinarily, if a human who has formed a contract takes their own life, the demon may take their soul for itself, regardless of whether or not it fulfilled the human’s wish. Since your negotiations were not yet complete, however, this ‘Victor’ had no claim on you, and so you became a Reaper.”

Ellie nodded. “In forty years, this Mark hasn’t given me any more trouble than an ordinary scar. Since I’ve started this assignment, though, it’s been hurting. Whenever you touch me, and even sometimes when you look at me a certain way, it’s like the Mark is burning me. How do you explain that?”

Sebastian cocked his head to the side, considering as he stared at the Mark. “Who can say? Perhaps, because your soul has been permanently damaged by your dealings with my kind, you are more sensitive to a demon’s presence?”

She shook her head, and her hand clenched into a fist. “It didn’t happen when Charlotte attacked me. It didn’t happen with any other demon I’ve fought and killed throughout my career. It’s only ever been with you. Why is that? What are you doing to me?”

He only smiled. “I cannot say. This is the first time I have seen such a thing, so my guess would be as good as yours.”

_Bullshit._ Not that she had expected any less, especially after she had danced around his question. “Fine, forget the Mark. We’ll move on.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. “I’ve asked this a couple times already, but this time, I want a straight answer out of you. What exactly is it that you’re trying to do here?”

He frowned. “Forgive me, but I’m not certain—”

“You know exactly what I mean. You didn’t just request the Dispatch for me, which is strange enough, you actually threatened the lives of any other Reaper who came down here to watch you. You dragged me out of that church, even though you were literally dying. You don’t act like any other demon I’ve ever met, except for Victor.” She had started to raise her voice as she spoke, and it took a great deal of effort for her to lower her volume. “I want to know what your endgame is here. What do you want from me?”

“I have already explained—”

“Don’t give me that. Don’t talk to me about your lying little master. I want the real reason. Why are you torturing me like this?” Her voice broke a little.

For a few long seconds, Sebastian only looked at her. Then, as she watched, his face split in a malicious, sharp-toothed grin, and his eyes seemed to burn her. “Because I enjoy it.”

Instinctively, she swiped at him with her Scythe, but as the blade moved toward him, he disappeared. There was a gust of wind and a sound like flapping wings. In her head, she heard his voice, dripping with glee and suppressing laughter. _You should get some rest now, my lady. You’re going to need it soon enough._


	17. Ravaged

“Don’t look now,” Rider whispered over the breakfast table the next morning, “but Black’s starin’ at you again.”

Ellie stabbed her fork through her fried fish with more force than she intended. “Hm. Maybe I should sell him a ticket.” She shoveled the fish into her mouth and chewed violently.

Spears, sitting to her right, glanced over his shoulder and scowled. “You may interested to know that he has an extremely predatory expression.”

“I am not even remotely interested in that, thank you.” She grabbed a chip and nibbled on it.

Rider grinned and winked theatrically. “Looks like ole Black wants somethin’ _other_ than fish ‘n chips for breakfast, eh?”

Ellie and Spears simultaneously dropped the food they were holding and shoved their plates away. “Disgusting,” Spears groaned. “That is the most revolting thing I have ever heard, and my waking hours are tormented by Grell Sutcliff.”

“Who’s Grell Sutcliff?”

“Never mind,” Ellie said quickly. “Here, take my chips, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.” She stood up and climbed off the bench, taking care not to kick any of the other performers crammed into the small space. “I’ll see you at the training grounds. Rider, I swear to Christ, if you make any more sex jokes, I will push you off that horse myself.” Rider laughed and waved. Ellie clapped Spears on the shoulder, half in warning, then walked out of the tent, determinedly not looking in Sebastian’s direction.

Outside, she ran into Beast. The cat tamer jumped and paled when she spotted her, perhaps remembering their encounter the night before. There were dark circles under her eyes. “G-G’morning. Chop. Off to the training grounds already?”

Ellie nodded. “Yes, I’d like to hurry up and become a full-fledged performer already.” Beast laughed, not unkindly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not looking very well. Did you manage to get to sleep?”

Beast shook her head, her shoulders stiffening a little. “N-No, not really. How ‘bout you? You’re lookin’ pretty knackered yourself.”

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. After the meeting, she had been too angry and puzzled by turns to even close her eyes. “I didn’t sleep at all. Actually, I didn’t sleep very well the night before, either.”

Beast frowned. “Everything okay? Nothing on your mind to keep you up?”

“Not really,” she lied. “Just getting used to it all, I guess.”

“Is that right?” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, thinking. After a few seconds, she nodded, told Ellie to follow her, and walked off in the direction of the big-top. Ellie glanced back once at the mess tent, then followed.

There were two big boxes of supplies outside the “backstage” tent, full of costumes and cosmetics for that night’s show. Beast plopped down on top of one, crossed her legs, and patted the box beside her. Ellie took a seat, her hands fidgeting. For a while, they listened to the sounds of the circus coming to life, the growling of animals and the calls of the performers at work.

At last, Beast turned to Ellie with a grim look on her face. “You’re sure everything’s all right? The other day, you said you were in some kinda trouble. Is that all sorted out now you’re with us, or is it still goin’ on?”

Ellie blinked. “Oh, er…no, no, that’s all fine. Well, not fine, exactly, but not an immediate concern. I have food and clothing and a roof, so the rest will sort itself out eventually.”

“That’s good.” She paused, brow furrowed. “You don’t have to tell me, y’know, but maybe I could help better if I knew what was goin’ on. If you want, that is.” She had genuine concern in her eyes that touched Ellie.

She hadn’t expected to be confronted on her backstory, so she had only constructed the bare minimum. Raw from the past few nights’ ordeals, she tried to conjure up some details to flesh it out, but her mind only went back to the truth. Before she knew what she was doing, the words came by themselves. “Do you remember how Joker was teasing me for the way I talk? He said I sounded like a princess, or something like that.”

Beast winced. “Aw, you know he didn’t mean anythin’ by it. If you want me to talk to him—”

“No, that’s not it. I wasn’t offended. It’s only…well, he wasn’t too far off.” Her hands kneaded her skirt, bunching up the fabric. She looked up and gave Beast a twitchy smile. “The truth is, I’m a member of the peerage. My father is a baron.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re a noblewoman? You mean, you got to wear fancy gowns and ride around in carriages and let gentlemen in those pretty silk scarves kiss your hand?” Her eyes sparkled.

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “Cravats? Yes, more than I could count.” She felt something shift and ache in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d thought of her former life in any context besides with Victor. At the time, the superficial glamour and empty repetition of upper-class life had tried her; all she had wanted was to hide away in her rooms with a book. She didn’t exactly miss those times, but she felt nostalgic for the innocence Victor had taken.

“Wow. What are you doin’ in a place like this, then?” Her face fell. “Is that the trouble? You can’t go home?”

She nodded, considering her words carefully. “My father disowned me. I caused a scandal and ruined our family’s reputation, so he threw me out on the streets. None of my friends or relatives would take me in.” Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact. To her surprise, though, a hot bubble formed in her stomach, a ghost of the fear and rage and sorrow she had felt back then. She cleared her throat, but the bubble did not dissipate.

Beast reached over and took her hand. “I’m so sorry. That must have been tough.” They were silent a moment, and when Beast spoke again, it was with a tinge of apology. “You don’t have to, again, but if you want to talk about it more—”

Ellie nodded without looking at her. “I do want to talk about it. If you’ll listen.”

“O’ course.”

It took Ellie longer to find her words this time, and when they came, she had to pull them from her throat. “I was engaged, you see. To an earl, my childhood friend’s brother. It was an excellent match, one that would have brought a lot of honor and recognition to our family, so I accepted him.”

“But you didn’t care for him,” Beast guessed.

“Not in the way a wife should love a husband. He was a kind man, and there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with him, but…well, there was someone else. My father’s secretary.”

“You were havin’ an affair, then?” There was no judgment or censure in her voice, only curiosity.

Ellie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t say that.” Beast grabbed her chin and tilted her head up to look straight at her. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I mean, it’s a bit rough on the earl, sure, but why shouldn’t you be with the person you love?” A faraway look came into her eyes. “Not everyone gets to do that, after all.”

Ellie pulled herself out of Beast’s grasp and looked away again. “It was wrong. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have turned him away at the door. If I had done that, then maybe—” Her voice broke, and she fell silent. Thinking that way would get her nowhere. Victor had already contracted with Martha. No matter what she did, the brand would be there, and her sister’s soul would be lost.

“Oh, so it’s him that’s to blame, is it? I thought as much. He didn’t do anythin’ to help you out after your dad kicked you out, either, did he?”

“No. He ran the instant we were discovered. I haven’t seen him since.”

She scoffed. “That figures. Well, if that tosser ever fancies a trip to the circus, me and Betty’ll give him a show to remember. How ‘bout that?”

Ellie gave her pained smile. “I, uh, don’t think that would be a good idea. For various reasons. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Beast got to her feet and stood over Ellie. Smiling, she put a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Chin up, yeah? That’s all behind you. You’re with us now, and we won’t let you get hurt like that again. I won’t, anyway.”

“Thank you, Beast. That means a lot. Er, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to be alone for a little while.”

“Sure thing. Let me know if you ever want to talk again. I’m always willin’ to listen.” She squeezed her shoulder and walked off.

Ellie sat for another few minutes, gathering herself. When she felt calmer, she stood up, then turned around to face the figure crouching in the shadows beneath the big-top. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to eavesdrop on ladies, Milord?”

Ciel jumped and scrambled to his feet. He had set aside his usual finery and disguised himself in mismatched, threadbare, working-class clothes. “Ladies, yes.” He tried to sneer, but the pink blush dusting his cheeks ruined the effect. “That was a fine story you came up with. For a minute there, I almost believed you.”

Ellie gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Story, Milord? What story?” She curtsied low, a proper one befitting a baron’s daughter addressing an earl, then turned on her heel and walked off with her head held high.

-

 The next time she saw Ciel was in the medical tent, after that night’s show. While running around and helping the performers prep backstage, Rider had tripped over a pile of discarded clothing and twisted her ankle. Once Joker dismissed her, Ellie had volunteered to walk her to the medical tent, letting her lean on her shoulder.

The troupe’s doctor, referred to only as Doc, was bandaging Rider’s ankle and warning her to be more careful when the flaps of the tent burst apart. A freckled child burst into the room, pale and gasping for breath. It took Ellie a moment to recognize Doll outside of her costume. “Doc! You gotta help us! Smile—Smile is—!” She let out a choked sob, and Ellie tensed up.

Doc sat up in his wheelchair and peered around Rider at the newcomer. “Calm down, Doll. What’s this about Smile?”

Before she could respond, the flaps parted noisily again as Sebastian ran inside. The first thing Ellie noticed was the look of sheer bafflement on his face; for once, he had come across something he could not handle. Any delight she felt at this evaporated when she saw Ciel in his arms. The boy was semiconscious and wheezing, his throat making a thin and reedy sound. From her time caring for her sister, she recognized a respiratory illness immediately and grew cold.

Doc wasted no time. Wheeling himself over to one of the cots, he ordered that Sebastian strip Ciel of his damp clothes, dress him in the spare pajamas from a nearby cabinet, and tuck him in. He told Doll to heat and fetch a bucket of water. When Ciel was in bed, Doc took his temperature (high fever) and listened to his heartbeat and breathing (sporadic). He then told Ellie to heat up a pot of tea using the leaves he kept with his supply of medicines. When this was done, he poured the tea into a small pot with a long spout, which he then gently poured into Ciel’s mouth. After a few minutes, Ciel’s breathing eased slightly.

Only when he was satisfied that his patient was in no immediate danger did Doc turn to Sebastian again. “This appears to be an asthma attack.”

Ellie nodded a fraction. Of course. She had seen in Vincent and Rachel’s Cinematic Records that the late countess had suffered from (among other things) asthma, which she had passed on to her younger son. The boy’s health had been fragile all his childhood, and that had led to his indoor lifestyle and perhaps even his inferiority complex toward his brother.

Sebastian seemed less convinced. “Asthma, you say? In the three years we have lived together, this is the first time I have seen him like this.”

Doc, unbothered, laid a damp cloth on Ciel’s forehead. “Hmmm…if he hadn’t had an attack in three years, I would normally think he was cured, but these sudden relapses aren’t unusual. A sudden chill, acute stress, or even catching a cold could trigger an attack.” He shot a censorious look at Doll. “I hear a certain someone forced him to take an open-air bath with our resident simpletons?” Doll flinched and hung her head.

At this point, Ciel woke up, his eyes glassy. Sebastian gave him some water while Doc chastised him about putting himself at risk. Doc then shooed everyone out of the tent, advising Rider to rest her ankle tonight and walk it off tomorrow as an afterthought.

On her way out, Ellie glanced down at Ciel’s pained face. An image of Martha, breathing blood, seemed to superimpose itself over the boy. Ellie shook her head and looked elsewhere. That was different. Ciel had had attacks before, and he had always recovered to some extent, unlike Martha. There was no reason to be concerned.

Her gaze landed on Sebastian. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was tight. If she didn’t know any better, she would say he was anxious about his master. But that was ridiculous. Demons didn’t feel as humans did. This was just another performance, like everything else he did.

-

Later that night, Ellie jerked awake, heart pounding. It took a moment to remember where she was. She listened to Rider’s snoring for a few minutes, then stole a glance at the wristwatch she had squirreled away under her bed. It was two-thirty in the morning. There were no sounds coming from outside, and no lights shone through the fabric of the tent.

As she was pondering what had woken her, she felt two quick flashes of heat on her right hand. It was her Mark, glowing faintly as it warmed. Somehow, almost instinctively, she knew that Sebastian was calling out to her. The idea irritated her. _Where does he get off, summoning me like a dog?_ She considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, her Mark burned even hotter. _Fine, already._ Under protest, she got out of bed, dressed, and snuck out of the tent.

Sebastian was waiting for her by the medical tent, as she expected. He bowed as she approached. “Thank you very much for coming. My sincerest apologies for disturbing your rest.”

Ellie snorted. “Right. This had better be good.”

“It is indeed.” He affected an apologetic smile. “My young master has ordered me to pay a visit to the local heraldry office, but I am loathe to leave him in his illness. I wonder if you might be willing to watch over him while I am gone?”

Ellie blinked. “The heraldry office? What sort of business do you have there?”

“Business to do with heraldry,” he answered with a cheeky smile.

She sighed. _I suppose I walked into that one._ “Fine, I’ll babysit your midnight snack. But you owe me one.”

“Certainly. I am in your debt.” He bowed again, started to walk off, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you might save me the trouble by telling me who the patron of this circus is?”

So that was what he was looking for. In fact, Ellie did have an idea of the man’s identity, as his name was also on the To-Die List for the big collection. Naturally, though, she had to lie. “I do not. And even if I did, you know I couldn’t tell you.”

“That is true. Are you quite certain you wouldn’t make an exception?” The shadows around them grew thick and oppressive, and the air temperature dropped a few degrees.

Ellie brushed it off. “I thought your master told you to go the heraldry office to figure it out. What kind of butler takes the easy way out when his master gives him a direct order?”

Sebastian blinked, nonplussed. He thought for a moment, then smiled. “You’re quite right, of course. My apologies. Well, then, do excuse me.” He turned and leaped into the air and out of sight.

Once she was sure he was gone, Ellie ducked into the medical tent. All the lights were off, and the only sounds were Ciel’s labored breathing and the snoring coming from somewhere in the back of the tent. Ellie squinted and saw Doc slumped over his desk, sleeping deeply. She doubted she would disturb him. Glancing at the bed, she was surprised to see Doll curled up next to Ciel, also asleep. She must have been worried about him. Ellie smiled sadly. The first-tier performers were unquestionably doing bad things, but they weren’t bad people.

She pulled up a chair from the examination area and sat down next to Ciel’s bed. He didn’t look like he was doing much better than before. His face was flushed with fever and dripping with sweat, but he was shivering in his blankets. He was breathing it short, shallow gasps. Still, it appeared that he was asleep now, rather than unconscious. Ellie felt the cloth on his forehead and, finding it dry, dipped it in the nearby bucket of clean water before replacing it.

She sat there for twenty minutes or so, unsure of what to do or how to feel, when the flaps opened behind her. She turned to see a pajama-clad Spears stick his head into the tent. He opened his mouth, paused, glanced at the sleeping Doc, and motioned for her to come outside. Ellie stood and followed him out.

“Everything all right?” she whispered when they were in the open air. “Jesus, is that blood?” The tip of his Scythe, she had just noticed, was dripping a viscous dark fluid.

Spears sighed. “It appears the Security Department isn’t capable of attending to its own duties after all. Are you aware that your demonic friend attempted to leave the compound just now?”

Ellie frowned. “Yes, his master ordered him to go search some heraldry office for the name of the circus’s patron. What about it?”

His eyes narrowed. “You were aware of this, and yet you let him go?”

“As far as I’ve been told, no one on the To-Die List is set to be collected near him, so I’m under no obligation to override my standing orders and tail him.” She crossed her arms over her chest, on edge. “Why, does the List say otherwise?”

“In this case, the To-Die List is irrelevant. No demon should be allowed to roam as it pleases, even a collared one. Fortunately, I was able to prevent the vermin from escaping in your stead.” He shot her an accusatory glare.

Ellie felt a chill run through her. “You attacked him? Without cause?”

“I should hardly say ‘without cause.’ I told him that I would not allow him to wander about without his master, and he flagrantly disregarded me.”

She had to struggle to keep her voice down. “You idiot! Sebastian doesn’t take random souls, and he doesn’t attack Reapers unless he’s provoked or he wants to send a message! You could’ve gotten yourself killed for no reason!”

Spears’s expression darkened. “How dare you speak to a supervisor that way? Management shall hear of this, make no mistake.”

Ellie ground her teeth. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” She took a deep breath. “What happened next, sir?”

Spears glowered at her another few seconds before continuing. “Unfortunately, I missed my mark somewhat and only injured his front paw. He is still hale and hearty, but he agreed to remain in the compound without further trouble.”

Ellie blinked. “He’s not going to the heraldry office?” That was a surprise; Sebastian normally did whatever it took to fill Ciel’s orders.

“He said he would discover the information he needs another way. Now, if we’re done here, I have a report to write. It shall include your insubordination, as well as your dereliction of duty.” He gave her one last frown before storming off.

Ellie lingered outside the medical tent, lost in thought. Sebastian could not return to his master without the name of the circus’s patron, one Baron Thomas Kelvin. He was also confined to the circus grounds, so the only way to obtain that information would be to ask one of the troupe members. Of that group, mostly likely the only ones who knew Kelvin’s name were the first-tier performers. Of course, they wouldn’t just tell him if he outright asked them; they were kidnapping children at the baron’s request, after all, and were probably on high alert. Sebastian would have to trick or manipulate them into giving him the name. _The question is, how would he—?_

It came to her in a rush. Her heart plummeted to her feet. The ambient night sounds faded away, drowned out by her pulse, too fast and forceful even for a human.

He was going to do the exact same thing he did to her. He was going to fuck what he wanted out of them.

Hardly aware she was doing it, Ellie took off running toward the heart of the circus grounds. Sebastian would target Beast, without a doubt. He most likely had no preference for gender, but Beast was definitely the most vulnerable of the group. Ellie had only known them for a few days, but even she could tell that Beast was hopelessly in love with Joker, and that Joker did not feel the same. It would be child’s play for Sebastian to take advantage of that. Ellie changed course and ran toward the first-tier tents. Heedless of who might be watching, she summoned her Death Scythe to her hand.

She was almost, but not quite, too late. The two of them were near the training tent, Beast leaning heavily on a nearby fence and Sebastian embracing her from behind. He was holding one of her hands. His other one slipped between the folds of her coat. From forty feet away, Ellie could see his eyes shining like beacons. Beast’s face was equally red, and her expression was slack and uncontrolled. Some isolated part of Ellie’s mind wondered if she had had the same look on her own face that night. Instantly, like flipping a switch, the thought of that night brought all the old feelings back: the shame, the excitement, the heat.

“No,” she heard herself say quietly. Not again. Not ever again, to anyone. No one else would have to live with what she went through. Not if she had anything to say about it. She took one step forward, raised her Scythe almost mechanically, and opened her mouth to yell.

“Stop,” a voice hissed. Before she could respond, a hand shot out from behind her and clamped over her mouth, cutting off all sound. An arm lashed around her waist and dragged her back into the shadows. Ellie was too stunned to react. She twisted her neck as best she could while restrained and saw that her assailant was William T. Spears, still in his pajamas.

“Do not interfere,” he whispered. “This does not concern us.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. She struggled against her bonds, mumbling furiously into Spears’s hand.

He only tightened his grip. “As you pointed out earlier, this vermin is not in the habit of taking souls at random. Moreover, that woman is set to die in two days. Any sort of damage he might incur is only temporary and does not affect our work. It would not be appropriate to step in.”

Ellie began to flail harder, but it was already too late. Hand in hand, the lovers walked off in the direction of Beast’s tent. Right before they stepped out of view, Sebastian turned his head in Ellie’s direction. She could not see his face in any detail—her glasses had gone slightly askew when Spears jerked her backward—but she just knew that he was taunting her.

He and Beast disappeared, and Ellie slumped in her bonds. Spears felt this and misunderstood. “There, I knew you’d see reason eventually. If I remove my hands, will you stay quiet?”

She nodded, defeated. Spears let her go, and she turned to face him, a look of sullen betrayal in her eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. You know I acted rightly. There was no reason to cause a scene.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pajama pocket and wiped down the hand he had put on her mouth. “A Reaper must be emotionless in their tasks. I have read your file, and I sympathize with your plight, but I am also wary of you losing sight of your duty in the face of your…baser inclinations. Jealousy is unsightly at the best of times, and any attraction you may inexplicably feel toward that creature—”

Ellie slapped him. Spears’s head snapped around, and his glasses skittered on the ground. Slowly, he turned his head back around to stare at her, mouth agape. For once, he was speechless.

“What do you think this is?” Ellie asked. Her voice was glacial with barely suppressed fury. “What the fuck do you take me for?”

There was no answer. Unable to articulate what she felt, Ellie turned around and stalked away, gripping her Scythe so hard her arm shook. She didn’t know or care where she was going. Half of her was here, picking its way through the tents and shivering in the stiff breeze. The other half was in her old bedroom, lying on the coverlet, with Victor’s arms around her and his lips at her breasts. As she remembered each touch, the corresponding part of her body would grow hot, and she would shudder with revulsion as her insides responded. The Mark throbbed dully.

When she became fully aware of her surroundings again, she found herself back in the medical tent. Ciel and Doll were still sleeping, the former more peacefully than before. Ellie stared down at him, loathing him. _If it wasn’t for you, Beast wouldn’t be suffering like this._

A phantom thought floated across her mind. _Slit his throat now, while Sebastian’s occupied._

She scrambled backward, horrified. Her Scythe fell to the dirt. Where on Earth had that come from? No matter what his pet demon did, this traumatized and disturbed child did not deserve death. Ellie knew that. Besides, the second she put her blade to Ciel’s throat, Sebastian would be there to return the favor.

_That would be better than this. Anything would be better than this._

Ellie stood still for a few minutes, grappling with yourself, before collapsing back into her chair. She hunched over, hugging herself, alternatively hot and cold. One hand groped for Ciel’s hand and squeezed it tightly. It felt warm and slick and so, so small. She anchored herself to it as the memories haunted and battered her.

-

The next thing she knew, it was dawn, and there was a slight pressure on her shoulder. She looked up and froze. It was Sebastian, smiling down at her like nothing had ever happened. Ellie noticed absently that his gloves were gone, and that the hand bearing his Mark of the Covenant had a partially healed scar on it.

“Good morning,” he said, cool and collected as ever. “You have my thanks for sitting up with my young master. I trust there were no problems during the night?” His expression was polite and slightly concerned, but his eyes were laughing.

Ellie let go of Ciel’s hand, leaving white outlines of her fingers that reddened as circulation returned. She stood up, beckoned to Sebastian, and walked out without looking at him. He followed just behind her, his footsteps just above silent. Once again, they went to the edge of the grounds, away from the other tents.

When they arrived, Ellie turned around slowly to face him. Her face tingled and her body shook, but her voice was calm. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the last time we talked about this. I’ll say it again in detail. Are you listening?” He nodded, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Excellent. Pay attention, now.” She stepped closer to him until they were only inches across. “The next time you so much as touch a human with even a hint of a sexual connotation, I will slice you in half and feed you your own intestines. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

His lips curled back, revealing his fangs. “Oh? I’m surprised to hear you take such offense. After all, Miss Beast was quite happy to give her consent.” His teeth gleamed. “With a bit of prodding, that is.”

It took all Ellie’s fortitude to keep her volume low. “She did not consent to being fucked by a demon. She did not consent to having her soul blackened and damned for all eternity.”

“My, such vehemence,” Sebastian purred. “Could it be possible that you have something of an ulterior motive?”

“What the hell are you—?”

The words died on her lips. The air around her had suddenly grown heavy and palpable. Her body felt sluggish, and a small pocket of warmth was spreading from her abdomen. Her head filled with fog. Goosebumps peppered her skin.

She roused herself with an effort. “Stop doing that.” The words were slurred.

“Doing what?” Sebastian asked. Her voice was deeper and fuller than before. Hearing it made her shiver.

“Don’t play innocent with me. Is this what you did to Beast? Putting out some sort of pheromone or whatever, making me—” She paused and felt her face warm.

“Making you what?” Smiling, he cupped her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. The contact was like a bolt of lightning through her system, but she could not pull away. “How precisely have I affected you?”

“Don’t touch me,” she mumbled. She had to force the words out.

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite hear you.” He snaked one arm around her waist and pressed her against him. “Your heart is beating too loudly.”

“I…I said…I said _don’t touch me_!” She wrenched herself out of his grasp. The fog in her brain cleared, and adrenaline burned away the sluggishness in her veins. She took off running and didn’t stop until she reached her tent, where she flung herself on the bed and wept at last.


End file.
